


A Wish Not Granted

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action, Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-19
Updated: 2007-11-22
Packaged: 2019-01-19 11:19:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 27,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12409344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: To enjoy a normal witch's life is Eloise Midgeon's dearest wish. Sixth year, however, refuses to go as planned, and she soon finds herself embroiled in danger, plotting, politics and madness.





	1. Prolog

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

  
Author's notes: 1  


* * *

Prolog

Yesterday, the air had been stifling, hot and heavy, the humidity and pollution staining the sky to a murky brownish yellow. It had been the kind of day that made it impossible to do anything other that lie in the shade on the balcony hammock fanning yourself while drinking cold lemonade and playing chess. The slow game made endurable only by the fact that your mind had been reduced to a sloggy mass many hours before. The exhaustive torment of the inhabitants of this London suburb was mercifully put to an end around midnight when the thunderstorm erupted.

Now the cool air caressed the skin, and the rainy drizzle obscured the few cars that passed, as it closed off the noise of the city, leaving each in solitary peace and contentment, alone with the pitter-patter of the rain. Eloise Midgeon sat meditatively on her window sill, feet dangling out the window, absorbing the soothing atmosphere this pre-dawn hour. It was her time of reflection; thinking objectively was easier when one felt removed and unconcerned. Disconnected thoughts and words chased each other through her mind as she absentmindedly began to fiddle with the hem of her p-jays.

The musical sound of raindrops reverberated as they made their final stand against the laws of physics. Before her stretched out a massacre, the streets pooling with the rest of these brave, yet heroically stupid, drops, who refused to acknowledge that concrete was harder than water. Yet, these raindrops were to be admired, for as soon as they met their end, they immediately rallied, flowing into the sewers to try again some other day. Perhaps they were patient enough to slowly wear down the cement over the passage of time. After all, the great canyons were not to be sneezed at. Or perhaps there is no they, no legendary and never-ending battle between raindrops and ugly concrete. Perhaps things just exist but have no meaning.

No, no, bad train of thought. Existentialism is just too depressing. Don’t really understand it anyway. Alright, let’s explore something else… Hmmm, what to think about?

Rose silk of a dress, shimmering as it is whipped by the wind, on a day near the sea, bright sunlight. The ocean, a vast expanse, infinity, omega. Math homework, don’t like that at all. Summer school sucks. Long boring hours of pretending to pay attention. Hatred. Frustration. Restlessness. Pages and pages of meaningless gibberish. Magic is more interesting. Hogwarts…

People often don’t think in words, instead they think in images, feelings, sensations… Unless am psychotically abnormal… perhaps.

I suppose it is rather difficult to portray thought in writing. All those conversations characters in books have with their conscience, as if they were two different people, are pretty stupid if you ask me. When examining a moral dilemma, one does not talk to themselves in that manner. Instead they think more along the lines of, “Should I or should I not? Doing that is stupid and will get me in trouble… but it is better than the other options… C’mon Ellie, get a grip!”

It is getting greyer outside, sun must be rising. At this hour of the morning, things seem amusingly ironic somehow. And Hogwarts most of all… I mean, I love the place, yet hate it.

Why do we feel the need to laugh when hurt, disappointment, loneliness and hopelessness assail us? I suppose I do subscribe to the theory that laughter is in some ways a coping mechanism. It’s the only thing that explains why I broke down in hysterical laughter after receiving my failing grade in Astronomy after I had spent hour upon hour vainly attempting to stuff all of those meaningless star charts into my head. But they slipped out, like sand through my fingers, as I desperately sought to grab hold of a few grains.

The mind is a funny thing. My mind might be a little more screwed than most. After all, who on earth pictures their mental landscape like that of a murky swamp, draped in poisonous vapours? A swamp that has but one edge, which spreads infinitely forth into the darkness, filled with half sunken logs and rotting weeds. Memories float upon the water, and monsters lurk within the deep, sometimes disturbing the muddy waters only to settle back once more into their fearful sleep. Upon that swamp, I venture forth, a wide-eyed child clinging to a large grubby sheet for warmth and protection in a rickety old rowboat that I cannot control. In desperation I cry out: “Come back to me! Come back to me! Oh, memories I want to see!” I peer through the mists. Relief is when I find them, oh, sweet comfort from the desolation. Sometimes, the information that I seek rests at the surface as beautifully clear and sweet smelling as a water-lily, pure, yet untouched by the surrounding decay. Other times, I search in desperation, only to vainly plunge my hands into the stagnant water, reaching as far as I dare go in an attempt to retrieve the sunken, bulbous mass, which is now nothing more than a shadow.

Yup! You guessed right, I’m not very smart, quite stupid in fact. ‘Kay, maybe not that stupid. My marks are above average anyhow. It’s simply agony during tests when you almost remember something but can’t grab hold of it. It’s like trying to grab a gentle summer breeze; it doesn’t work.

I hate Astronomy anyways; don’t understand what the hell it has to do with magic. All we do in that bloody class is memorize the movements of the planets and the bloody stars. Now to study the physics behind it all would be fascinating, but wizards are into rote memorization for some obscure reason. As far as I’m concerned, I walked into Hogwarts knowing enough about the night sky.

One – It’s pretty. Two - I can recognize the Big Dipper and the Small Dipper. Three - Because I know how to differentiate the Big Dipper and the Small Dipper, I have no problem identifying the North Star, which is all I will ever need if I get stuck in the woods at night without a compass while knowing which direction I should be heading to. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. (You’d be amazed how any people get that confused, I mean, really! You’re only witness to it EVERY DAY!)

Thus, I consider myself well enough versed in astral knowledge to face the unknown. As I think that divination is nothing but a load of bull, I have no other use for the subject. Unfortunately, if I want to graduate from Hogwarts, I will have to pass that bloody class. I failed the Astronomy OWL last June with a T; yes, Troll does exist, as I have found out.

I suppose insulting the examiner’s intelligence wasn’t the smartest thing to do. If I had played the pitiful, pathetic, grateful, blunderingly stupid, but good-heartedly naïve Hufflepuff, I probably would have received a D. Which would have meant not putting up with madman Sinistra (yes madman – not madam) for another year while being humiliated by my younger peers, oh well.

Apart from Astronomy, I’m not too bad, apart from practical Herbology that is. Have a tendency to kill things that I blame entirely on my dried-up brown death giving thumb. I am the living proof that the legend that Hufflepuffs are loving nurturing beings who are good with plants is complete coddleswap. I take Arithmancy and Ancient Runes as my options.

Divination is a stupid faux.

Muggle studies are a bit of a joke for any Muggle-born. Naw, take that back, they are the funniest thing I’ve seen in decades. (Not that I’ve seen that many decades, but whatever.)

As for Care for Magical Creatures… took that one in my third year, but then dropped out. Under any other teacher than Hagrid, it would have been great, but his fascination with monsters is madness. I hesitated to drop the class for a long while. I don’t need to say that when I learned of the Blast-Ended Skrewts, I never once more regretted my decision. In any case, I study the theoretical side on my own.

My life has always been very normal. Apart from discovering that I was a witch that is. 

The day my Hogwarts letter came was the most surprising of my life. I have no idea what on earth I performed as accidental magic as a child; neither I nor my parents seem to remember anything. I had never been in danger or threatened; I’m rather passive-aggressive by nature, so I had not lashed out. Need I say that my family was one of the more difficult ones to persuade that magic was real. Poor Professor McGonagall. To this day, I still blush whenever she looks at me in the eye.

I am a witch, and I must admit that that is enough excitement to last me a lifetime. I do not wish to have dangerous adventures like that Potter guy and his friends; I prefer to hear and gossip about them from afar. Struggling against death-defying odds is fun to imagine, but in real life, who would wish for such a fate? I am content, and in a weird twisted way, I am happy with living in the background. A safe and normal witch’s life. By Merlin, I hope it stays that way! 


	2. Back to Hogwarts Again

**Back to Hogwarts Again**

Eloise Midgeon was awoken at the crack of dawn on September first by the sounds of her parents yelling downstairs. This had become a ritual occurrence on each day of her departures. Her overprotective mother would start muttering over how she hadn’t subjected herself to nine months of pregnancy and a great many subsequent sleepless nights to send her children away to boarding school. Her father would calmly reply that it was too great an opportunity to pass up and that it was their duty as parents to develop their child’s talents, whatever they may be. Then the ranting would start, getting progressively louder, and this time, her mother had additional material to add to her list of problems with the wizarding world.

“ROBERT! Don’t you realize that we are sending her into a society that is not only full of prejudice against her kind, but is also in the middle of a war! Would you send her to Jerusalem in the muggle world?! NO! To Sudan?! NO! To Afghanistan?! NO! So why are you insisting on sending her to where she would be a particular target! And she didn’t even tell us! We had to go pick her up from her shopping early from Diagon Alley to overhear what had been going on and pick up a newspaper! I refuse to send my child into such danger!”

Eloise sighed and rolled over in bed, trying to drown out the sound by sticking her head under a pillow. She wondered if all muggleborns were going through the same trials this morning. Probably not, the rest of them were probably clever enough to keep the truth from their parents, but how was she to know that her parents would come early to pick her up? They were usually late!

After a few minutes, as the screaming match had not only not subsided, but gotten progressively louder, Eloise decided that spending the morning being smothered by a pillow was not really how she would choose to spend her time. She got up, making as much noise as possible, and headed down to breakfast. Her mother and father sat silently fuming at opposite ends of the table, both purposefully buried in their newspapers. As Eloise served herself some coffee and sat down, her mother folded her newspaper and with a significant look at her father, got up from the table and started fussing about the kitchen.

“Oh good morning dear, did you have a nice sleep? Sit down. Sit down. I’ll make you some toast and scrambled eggs, just how you like them. And what kind of cheese would you like this morning? Oh, never mind, there’s only Harvati left in the fridge. I really should go grocery shopping more regularly…” Thus, the endless stream of dialog went on and on. As the trunk got packed, as the two little ones were woken and dressed, as they pilled into the car, as they parked at the station and walked to platform nine and three quarters.

“…And sweetie, don’t forget to write every week. You know how we like your letters. And… And… Please be careful…” And with that, her mother broke down and started sobbing.

Eloise sighed and awkwardly patted her mother on her arm. There really was nothing worse than making you mother cry. But she steeled herself against the temptation to give in. She had to go to Hogwarts, she just had to. “It’s alright ma, you know I’m always careful, I’ll keep my nose clean and out of trouble. You have my word. I’ll write loads and be back for Christmas. I’m always home for Christmas.”

With tearful smiles and many hugs, they parted. Eloise walked decidedly towards the barrier and before disappearing, turned back and waived once more before leaving the muggle world behind her.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The Hogwarts Express roared and belched steam over the many parting families and chaos that reigned below. Eloise bumped and jostled her cart as she pushed through the crowd, slowly making her way to the scarlet train. She paused, however, as she overheard irritated swearing.

“Bloody floo! Bloody train! Why can’t we just bloody well take bloody portkeys to bloody Hogwarts! It’d be so much bloody easier! But no, have to bloody well have us carry our bloody heavy trucks through the bloody crowd to take a bloody useless train ride because of a bloody tradition that was started only three hundred bloody years ago by that bloodily stupid Headmaster Cramer what’s his bloody name…”

Eloise turned and smiled. “You know Mandy, you’ll give the school a bad name. What will all these parents think, sending their darling children off to be badly influenced by you?”

“They’ll think whatever they bloody well want and probably all agree with me! I can easily tell that they all bloody well wish that they had the liberty to swear like I do!”

“Ahhhh, but by using one word so repetitively, people will start thinking that Hermione Granger is the smartest witch of our year.” Eloise teased.

“Like I bloody care what bloody stupid people think.” said Mandy scowling and turning up her nose. She held the pose for a few second before being knocked into from behind and falling painfully over her trunk. “That’s it! I’m going to start blasting these bloody idiots out of my way!” Mandy snarled taking out her wand.

Eloise smiled and helped her up. “Come, come, its just a bit further, they’ll put you in Azkaban you know, if you become too murderous.”

“Don’t care… Got to have revenge… Bloody bastards will all pay…” Mandy muttered. She nevertheless let herself be guided to the train.

They had scarcely stored their trunks and sat down that they were joined by their friends Zacharias Smith, Rebecca Moon, Lisa Turpin and Terry Boot.

“Why look Zacharias!” exclaimed Terry in mock astonishment. “We are preceded by the two craziest witches of our year. By Merlin! They managed to find their way to the train on their own this time, we are becoming quite superfluous!”

“To be sure, mister Boot, they must have hidden the dead bodies and cleaned up the carnage from the platform by the time we came along!”

“So Eloise, what mad plans did you come up with this summer?” Lisa smirked, sitting down. “Any more experimental medical magic?”

Until that moment, Eloise had been smiling good naturedly at her friends antics, but Lisa’s comment immediately threw her into a anxiously depressed mood. Fourth year had not been a pleasant one for her. After having her skin problem commented on by no less than 14 people and having overheard several rather vicious jokes made by her male peers, she had taken a rather long look in the mirror before trying to curse it better. The ensuing disaster had become legendary in Hufflepuff house and had thus far remained a source of great hilarity. Any hopes that the horrible episode might have been forgotten, were dashed before the train left the station.

Terry comically puffed up his hair and with the air of a mad scientist cried out. “I’ve made all the calculations! Nothing can go wrong! I’ll just tap my nose three times and say disparesso and all my skin problems will be gone!”

“No! Please! Oh mad one! Wait to see Madam Pomfrey! Do not pursue this madness! I entreat you!” begged Rebecca dramatically on her knees.

“No, no! I have it all figured out! DISPARESSO! AAAH MY NOSE! Where has it gone?!” And as Terry pretended to search under the seat cushions frantically, the other four roared with laughter.

Eloise scowled “Honestly! That was two years ago! Will you let go already! The joke got old after the second time you came to visit me in the hospital wing. Besides which, I seem to remember a certain someone, just standing there and wringing his hands, saying “Oh dear! Oh dear me! Oh dear!” over and over again.” And with a pointed look, she pulled out a book and moodily began flipping through its pages.

After that, the mood quieted and they began talking more calmly. Zacharias excused himself saying that he was going to find out more about what had happened to Potter last year at the MoM.

The conversation had turned to who was going to be the new professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts, when Zacharias burst in, being clawed by a swarm of bats that grew steadily more numerous as they hatched from his nose. “Elb me! Dat blooby bint curseb me!”

Mandy quickly got rid of them with a muttered counter curse before anyone else had time to bring out their wand. “So what happened THIS time?” she said with just a hint of a smile.

Zacharias plopped down onto one of the seats looking quite relieved. “I was asking that redheaded wench about the events at MoM, when she just turned on me and cursed me! Then this new teacher walks by -must be the new DADA teacher- complements her on her spellwork and invites her to lunch! He just left without a look in my direction! He didn’t even take off the curse! It’s like Snape all over again!”

“But with a liking for Griffindorks.” Eloise put in.

“No kidding, it’s going to be worse than Umbridge!” replied Zacharias delicately touching the welts on his skin. “As if the Griffindors aren’t already privileged enough!”

Eloise snorted “Serves you right for dating a Weasley! They’re a bunch of right arrogant bullies. Here, let me heal you.”

“Arrogant bullies is too light a term.” Mandy sniffed, “Malfoy’s an arrogant bully. At least he has something to be arrogant about! They’re just Potter’s friends. Whoop de bloody doo! Bloody ruthless, backstabbing social climbers they are. And so bloody stupid, or at least the Ronald oaf is. Why Granger puts up with them I will never understand.”

Terry shifted uncomfortably “C’mon guys, they’re not that bad.”

Eloise sighed “Bad or not, we shouldn’t be badmouthing them behind their backs. It’s descending to their level.”

They all rather shamefacedly avoided each other’s eye and quickly changed the subject. The mood soon picked up again and they reached Hogsmead in high spirits.

“… then my uncle offered to apprentice me next summer as a magical trunk maker!” exclaimed Boot. “Isn’t it great.” “Awesome mate, then you can teach us!” “And lose my most faithful customers? You’re mad! I’ve got more business sense than that!” Terry laughed, as they piled into one of the horseless carriages. “Perhaps… We’ll just have to wait until I get some good blackmail on you.” Rebecca smiled.

After an appreciative laugh, they all quieted, each absorbed by their own thoughts.

“Another bloody year,” Mandy swore reflectively.  
“More opportunities for mischief,” Lisa added with a twinkle.  
“More homework,” Boot groaned.  
“More occasions to shock the teachers and all other respected persons and institutions,” smirked Zacharias.  
“We’re back,” said Moon.  
“Yes, back at Hogwarts again.” whispered Eloise, gazing through the grimy glass at the rapidly approaching castle.   



	3. A Hogwarts Feast

**A Hogwarts’ Feast**

Eloise Midgeon’s POV

It was dusk when we finally reached the Castle. Dusk, that peculiar moment in time when the last rays of the sun have set and the world is being wrought of its colour. When your eyes receive naught but washed-out grey images of the world, its daily splendor lost though faint glimmers of it persist at the edge of your vision. All attempt to catch these shades a futile endeavor. Amongst the clatter of wheels and the murmur of voices, I paused to breathe in the smells of the evening air. The dust of the road, the hint of thriving green things and of rich earth, the dry stone heated by the summer sun, the sharp edge of coming fall, all was laced with the heady scent of magic

Walking up the step of the castle, I was soon but one of the many students that flooded to their house tables. I waved goodbye to my Ravenclaw friends and elbowed my way over to my Hufflepuff year mates. 

Hannah and Susan were already sitting with their head’s together in confidence. They were nice girls and fun to talk to, but their profound intimacy dating from their pre-Hogwarts days had created a barrier on how far our friendship could go. They never tried to exclude me, quite to the contrary. I had always just known that with them, I would always be second rate. Luckily, Rebecca Moon was also there, always up for a bit of trouble and a smile to brighten your day. 

Then there were the guys. Ernie Macmillan, the pompous git, that everyone liked anyway. Justin Finch Fletcherly, that I have always had a bit of a crush on. For which, may I add, I have been teased mercilessly by Zacharias. He never really knows when to shut up.

With a bemused smile, I sat down facing Rebecca and Zacharias.

“Lo mates. How’s it hopping?”

“It is hopping at about the same speed and velocity It was hopping last time you spoke to us. Approximately 2 minutes ago. As for how I have no idea as pronouns are not generally known to have any legs.” muttered Zacharias distractedly. “When’s the ritual segregation going to start? Wish the old dictator would get a move on. I’m bloody famished.”

“Ritual segregation?” questioned Rebecca,

“Sorting trial, whatever you want to call it.”

“What do you muggleborns have against the sorting anyway?” said Moon. “It has only been done for a thousand years and none of the wizard raised seem to think of it as odd.”

“That’s hardly a justification for the institutionalized stupidity that takes place. Don’t you resent being sorted into a narrowly defined little box? The world is much more complex than four distinct categories. The ridiculous system they have set up encourages us to think within those boundaries. I don’t like people telling me how to think. Besides which, if one was to sort any number of a group of friends, it is my theory that any group would be separated among the houses. If the first years weren’t sorted, the stupid house rivalries would cease almost immediately.” I replied.

“But the houses are there to cultivate certain qualities” said Rebecca looking decidedly unimpressed.

“The houses may cultivate particular qualities but I believe that any advantage gained is counteracted by a much greater loss, that of only interacting with a certain type of people. ”

“So Zacharias and I are the same type of people?”

“That’s not what I mean. Look at it this way: the houses cultivate, exaggerate certain characteristics. In different situations, these characteristics can be either qualities or defects.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Help me out here Zacharias,” I pleaded turning to him. Unfortunately, he was morosely staring at his plate sighing about treacle tart and the likes, so was no help at all.

“Never mind Becca.”

Just then, McGonagall entered, a straggly line of terrified first years in her wake. A hush descended upon the hall.

“Is it just me or do they look fewer in number than usual,” said Justin Finch-Fletcherly leaning over to whisper to me. “How was your summer by the way?”

“Great, just great.” I replied smiling stupidly.

Justin nodded in response before turning his attention back to the sorting. I was about to do the same when I received a kick from Zacharias under the table. He smirked and raised his eyebrows at me teasingly. I could not help the blush that crept over my cheeks, though that just started him chuckling quietly at me. I glared at him and gave a kick under the table. 

“Ow! What was that for you bint?!” snapped Moon.

“I was trying to hit Zacharias!”

“What did he do this time?”

“I was merely being sickened by Eloise’s display of passionate luv.”

“Oh. Justin again eh?” she giggled.

“Stop it both of you.” I whispered frantically, kicking them both. “What if he hears you?”

“He will either return your tender sentiments…”

“Or run away screaming…”

“Either should be great fun.”

“Stop giggling. Both of you!”

“I wasn’t giggling!” retorted Zacharias, incensed. “It was a very manly snigger.”

It was my time to smirk, “Oh suuure… Very manly. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Our fun was cut short by Susan turning to us disapproving and whispering angrily, “Show a little respect! The sorting hat is signing!” She then turned self righteously away.

The sorting hat had indeed begun its song. But I didn’t listen as I was too annoyed at Susan. We usually got along fine but often clashed whenever she thought I was not being sufficiently ‘proper’ or ‘respectful’. Which, come to think of it, was most of the time. She had a real gift for making me feel out of place.

My resentful eyes surveyed the hall. Everyone’s attention was riveted to the sorting. The soft light of the candles illuminated the scene, Dumbledore looking out over his hordes like an ancient king of old. (Albeit, a king with a rather peculiar sense of fashion.) I noticed the new teacher, a rather fat unpleasant looking man. His oily smile made my blood run cold. I quickly turned away. Playing with my fork I noticed that Snape was no longer at the teacher’s table. Strange, I thought, I could have sworn he was there when we entered the hall. Potter was missing too, as were a few other students. Their parents must have decided to keep them home because of the threat of You-Know-Who. 

I looked over at the Ravenclaw table. If Slytherins are drawn to power, I am drawn to knowledge, that which many of the Ravenclaws possess. I don’t purposefully try to make friends with the smartest and most knowledge thirsty, but time and time again I find myself falling in with the intellectual crowd. This has happened far too regularly to be simple coincidence, undoubtedly the result of the machinations of my unconscious mind...

The sudden cheering of my housemates startled me dreadfully; the first student had been sorted into Hufflepuff. Pulling my hair out of my mouth (I had been unconsciously chewing it for quite some time) I joined in the cheering.

All of the green-tinged and trembling children were eventually sorted; Dumbledore made his customary short speech, which went unheard by me as I was busy sneezing (When I said short, I meant short – Anyone would refrain from any long winded oration when face by hundreds of threateningly impatient and hungry teenagers); thus the meal began.

“Sho how d’ju all do on jhe Owls?” asked Ernie still trying to look dignified though his mouth was full of mashed potatoes.

Justin groaned, “Ernie! Mate! Can we please not talk about them until tomorrow? I know you did well, but I would like to enjoy my first night back at Hogwarts without having to worry about which classes I’m eligible to take. What did you guys do this summer?”

“Well, I got a job helping out the receptiowitch at my aunt’s office,” smiled Susan. “She thought it would be good for me to see the inside workings of the ministry, to help me make up my mind for which courses to take this year. Of course, I’d already decided that I’ll be helping her out as soon as I graduate, but it was still a fantastic opportunity.”

I swallowed my resentment over her previous comments and put on a pleasant face, burying my anger deep within me. There was no point getting upset over something so stupid, she meant well and I knew that I would soon forgive her in any case. “It must have been great. So what dastardly political plots have you uncovered?”

“No dastardly plots, just a lot of office gossip.” She laughed before leaning in conspiratorially, “Though I did find out that Emilia Beetlebod –Fudge’s public relations manager- was having an affair with the Dubois heir –the French ambassador.”

Ernie choked on his pumpkin juice. “You’re kidding! That would be a terrible scandal, it might put off his engagement to the …”

Susan rolled her eyes “Why do you think the prophet hasn’t mentioned it? It’s been all shushed up. The Dubois are paying a high price in bribes for their heir’s meanderings. He’s being called home in disgrace. Hopefully, the news won’t spread across the channel. The Richelieus would not take kindly to being humiliated in such a fashion and everyone knows they’re very powerful and not exactly light.” 

Macmillian and Moon were shocked into silence. The rest of us, not being involved in pureblood politics, were interested in a slightly different line of questioning.

“So how d’you find out? Hearsay? Or did you have more substantial evidence.” said Zacharias.

Susan shuddered “Far too substantial if you ask me, I was looking through a box in the corner of the supply cupboard when they entered for one of their thirsts.”

The table roared with laughter. 

“You’ve got to be kidding!” hiccupped Finch Fletcherly wiping tears from his eyes.

“I wish. He had her robe half off before I managed to sneak by them.”

“How d’you manage that?”

“It’s called crawling my dear, an indisputably important skill for anyone working at the ministry. It comes in handy in all sorts of circumstance.”

We were still snickering sporadically when Hannah noticed Potter stalking past the Hufflepuff table, his face was covered in blood. All of our eyes were soon set upon him. I felt sorry for the guy, he looked angry and humiliated. I’d be pissed too if I couldn’t even cross the great Hall without soliciting an audience. 

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The feast was soon over, our stomachs full. Dumbledore felt compelled to give his real beginning-of-year speech. 

“The very best of evenings to you!”*

“What the bloody hell happened to his hand!?” exclaimed Zacharias, completely ignoring Susan’s reproving glance.

“Looks disgusting.” Said Rebecca screwing up her nose

“Looks like the roast I burnt this summer.” I added.

“That’s hardly a recommendation,” put in Smith. “Remind me never to eat your cooking.”

“I got distracted. There’s usually nothing wrong with my cooking!”

“I believe the relevant word here is usually.”

“Oh shut up!” I said before returning my attention to the headmaster.

“…We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year. Professor Slughorn, is a former colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post of Potions master. Professor Snape, meanwhile, will be taking over the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts.”*

Loud whispering immediately spread through the hall.

“Well…” spoke Ernie. “This is unexpected.”

“And unwelcome” I said staring at the head table, hoping Dumbledore would say it was all a joke. “I can’t believe we’ve put up with five years of Snape, and just when he could really start teaching us something, he’s switched to DADA.”

“Doesn’t make much difference, does it. They’re both bastards,” said Zacharias indifferently.

“But Snape’s a brilliant bastard at potions!” I stuttered. “Have you read his treatise on veritaserum? His pedagogical methods may be truly awful but his ingenuity, his depth of knowledge in Potions is equal to some of the greatest minds of the present world! We were only just getting to the point where we could appreciate it. Damn! I was looking forward to Potions! Now we’ll be stuck with the unpleasant-looking undoubtedly-incompetent blob that Dumbledork tugged out of Merlin knows what dark corner.”

“Pardon me for being unsympathetic, not many got the marks to get into his NEWTS class and I was going to dump Potions anyway. I’m more concerned with the fact that Snape’s going to ruin DADA class for good.” Hannah said snidely. 

“Least DADA didn’t have much to ruin.” I put in dryly, earning a glare from Abbott.

Dumbledore then solemnly went on with his speech; something about You-Know-Who, Death Eaters, reporting on you fellow students and sticking to curfew. Much of Hufflepuff house listened with rapt attention, still feeling Diggory’s death more than a year later. Call me insensitive if you like, but I was wrapped up in the teacher switching and had other things on my mind. We were sent off to bed with a “Pip pip!”* and as I rose from my seat, I wondered what other surprises this new school year would bring.

 

* Quotes unrepentantly borrowed from Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. 


	4. Midnight Interludes

**Midnight Interludes**

Snape’s POV

I was in a foul mood that evening, having been dispatched by the Headmaster to go fetch the Potter brat that had somehow managed to contrive another way to enter the Great Hall alone in all his arrogance. Of course, he had been hopping to get his half-giant oaf of an admirer to bow him all the way to the castle, but Dumbledore saw fit to send me to take care of this menial task, and I was furious for it. But I wasn’t about to let king Potter know. Let him think that I did it out of pure perversity. As if I didn’t have more important things on my mind. Spying on the Dark Lord for instance! I sometimes wonder why I put up with Dumbledore, the great meddling coot, but I plan to survive this war, and as anyone can see that the Dark Lord is as mad as a hatter and about as mentally stable as Longbottom trying to walk a tight rope (Why must that idiotic boy pursue me into my very musings!?!), I have no other option that to seek protection from the other great lump of the land. Mad as a hatter the Dark Lord may be, but his power was incontestable.

I gave my usual disciplinary unwelcoming speech to the quaking first years. Though perhaps my anxiety was manifesting itself in a worse than usual temper, as they not only quailed and shook this year but many broke down in tears at my sharp words. Behavior completely unbecoming to any Slytherin worthy of the name may I add, and I reminded them of such. At this, a rare few composed themselves and faced me with pride, as the rest flew into hysterics. With a parting sneer and a nod of the head to those who had shown themselves worthy, I left them to their own means. The first night at Hogwarts is of capital importance for all of the first year Slytherins, though connexions and power are of supreme importance, they will not last long if you are not capable of keeping a cool head in all of you transactions. Blind panic does not suit cunning. The leaders had asserted themselves this night and would have to fight to keep their place in the Slytherin social order. It was nothing readily observable or concrete, but subtle, every Slytherin knew the social ranking and quiet battles were fought and alliances formed and broken without a murmur of it escaping to the outside world.

The clock struck midnight in my chambers and quickly grabbing a few bottles of dreamless sleep and calming potion, I decided to go check if the prefects had managed to get the first year brats to bed. I couldn’t have them showing up anything other than scrupulously neat and well rested on their first day. It was now their duty to uphold the honour of Slytherin house, no matter how weak and stupid they really were.

As I silently glided through the shadows of the dungeons towards the common room, I saw a student jump out quietly and look around, before jogging in the other direction. He made no sound (must have put a silencing charm on his shoes), I would have missed him had I not been staring at the common room door as I approached or had my eyes not been so accustomed to the dark (Vampiric blood does come in handy every once in awhile). Students wandering the corridors after the welcoming feast was highly irregular. Even I did not usually bother to patrol during the first night. The pests were all so ridiculously happy to be reunited with their snot-nosed housemates and so full and sleepy after an evening of uninterrupted gluttony, they all flew strait to their beds. Or so I thought.

Despite my many responsibilities, and my own fatigue, I decided that pursuit was the wisest option. I have always kept myself afloat of what unfolds in the student population. There is a reason Ravenclaws and Slytherins get along so well, the old age dictum that “knowledge is power” does hold some truth to it. And power is a thing that Slytherins respect. Though many would scoff at my paranoia, I had learnt from experience that though most student interaction was but a long stream of insipid drivel, every once in awhile, something would crop up that was definitely worth knowing. Children were not very good at keeping their parent’s secrets. Besides which, I had always envied Dumbledore’s seemingly omnipresent knowledge of what happened around the castle… I had noticed it was rather intimidating.

As I followed stealthily, the student bobbed and weaved his way through the shadows, taking shortcuts I had previously thought only I possessed knowledge of. He soon slowed (I had guessed by his stride that he was male) and crept towards a door I knew to be nothing but a locked broom closet. There he paused and took out his wand before tracing out the rune for secrecy at the bottom of the door. Suspicious of what was happening, I took out a vial of invisibility potion I always carried on me and downed it. (One was never too precautious – I suspect that had I been a muggle woman, I would have been the kind to toad around an umbrella on a sunny day – just in case. Ahh, the benefits of being a wizard, so much one can do with one’s wand. But I digress…)

No sooner had I drunk the potion that the rune on the bottom of the door flared, followed by the audible click of a lock. I followed the student as close as I dared and managed to squeeze in before he closed the door, but not before getting the end of my robe caught. I was apparently in a rather awkward position and I burnt in shame at the thought that one of my Slytherins might catch me like this. For such a mistake I would loose all respect and credibility. Coming out of my musings I finally noticed the scene in front of me.

Zabini, for that was the student I had been following, was starring at a cloaked girl in silence. Her face was shadowed, and I could not tell who she was from my vantage point. But at that point I no longer cared; it was obviously a late night romantic rendez-vous, that I would be forced to witness as I still had an hour of invisibility to go. Yes, invisibility potions had their downside, they made the bottles you stored them in invisible and had the marked disadvantage of lasting a definite period of time as they did not have an antidote. A professor wasn’t very intimidating when invisible. Well, on some students I might be able to pull it off, but I knew Zabini and if he caught me like this, I would be receiving blackmail for the rest of my mortal life, and perhaps, thereafter. Unless I had something on him… With renewed interest, I looked upon the cloaked girl, maybe I would manage to get out of an unwanted display of kinky teenage intercourse after all.

They both faced each other off, still as stones, neither moving as it would give the advantage to the other. A rather common Slytherin ritual, but if the girl were Slytherin, why did they not simply meet in the dormitory? But perhaps that knowledge would give an edge to their classmates. Or perhaps her parents had already promised her to someone else, though Zabini would be rich, most wizarding folk were wary of associating with his mother. The breaking of and oath could mean disgrace for her family. There was a small chance that this could yet turn to my advantage. As the minutes dragged by, I began to hope that the invisibility potion would wear off before either of them moved.

Just then, the girl said “You were late Zabini”, before turning and throwing herself on one of the armchairs in a most unslytherin manner.

“Honestly, don’t you ever get tired of playing those stupid Slytherin games? I would like to get to bed sometime this evening. Sit down.”

Thus yawning, Eloise Midgeon threw off her hood. 


	5. Partners

**Partners**

_Eloise Midgeon’s POV_

“Oh sit down! Will you, you stupid git!” Eloise snapped, getting seriously tired of Zabini’s little game. He’d continued staring at her unmoving for the last minute.

“Do it now or I will destroy the merchandise and as you have already paid a good part of your side of the bargain where will that leave you?!” He just continued staring.

“Or would you prefer I practice some of the spells I improvised this summer. Those Dark art books you passed me were very, shall we say, inspirational?”, she smirked maliciously.

“Well, there was this spell for ripping your enemies’ skin to shreds. Very dark, obviously banned, if I was to use it here I would get thrown out of Hogwarts for sure. But I was inspired while I was doing the cooking and figured that the spell for skinning potatoes would adapt to my purpose rather nicely. Would you care for a demonstration?” Eloise finished with a dangerous gleam in her eye.

Silence reigned for a few more second before Zabini smirked in reply. “My little Hufflepuff is getting better at her threats, though they still need a little work. A spell for skinning potatoes, honestly!”, and Zabini broke into laughter.

“Hey! I’ll have you know that spell actually works with the right modifications!”

Zabini, still chuckling, now looked rather interested, “Really?”

“Yes, but as it is such an un-intimidating spell I’m sure a Slytherin such as yourself wouldn’t appreciate it.”

“OK, ok, fine, I relent. I really would like to know.”

“But not before you give me all of the updates on the wizarding world” Eloise smiled.

“You’re not supposed to turn on your teacher!” he protested jokingly.

Nevertheless, Zabini soon continued more seriously, “Scrimegour is the newly elected Minister of Magic as you undoubtedly know. He has taken a much harder stance against the Dark Lord than Fudge ever did. It’s almost like having Barty Crouch in Office, the same philosophy: fight fire with fire. He’s receiving almost unconditional support from most of the light and grey families that are not attached to Dumbledore. Susan Bones’ aunt, Amelia Bones, almost made it, but she decided to back off from the elections as the votes would have been split, perhaps allowing the Dark Lord to install a puppet regime. She also obviously thought the ministry needed a strong backing at this point, which I don’t disagree with. He-who-must-not-be-named is quickly gaining ground, intimidating old allies into joining again and forming new alliances. My guess is that the war will really heat up in about a year’s time, I would not plan on coming back to Hogwarts next year.”

They both sat reflecting on the dark days ahead.

Eloise spoke up: “I hear that Draco Malfoy has joined the Death Eaters and has a special task to complete for you-know-who. Is it true? And if it is, who else has joined his ranks? Snape got out of Azkaban after having Dumbledore vouch that he had been spying for him. So we know that he was definitely a Death Eater at some point. Personally, I think he’s on his own side. He will survive, and tread a fine line until the outcome is evident, or until he is forced to make a choice. Choice that he might yet betray if it were in his best interest. In any case, back to Malfoy?…”

“You are right, Draco has joined his ranks, I do not know what his task entails, even the Malfoy heir is not foolish enough to speak of it. I will endeavour to find out with time. He will no doubt be under a lot of pressure, I will try to crack him then.” Zabini then turned to her, looking vaguely impressed. “How did you find out so soon?”

“Well, between Malfoy’s loud bragging and Potter’s overtly suspicious conversations, it was almost impossible not to overhear. Besides which, nobody suspects a Hufflepuff.” she smirked. “Very nice diversionary tactic there by the way, but in this case, flattery won’t get you everywhere. Now do you swear to tell me everything you discover of Malfoy’ task?”

“Oh all right, I swear.”

“Swear to what?”

“I swear that I will disclose to you any and all information that I will discover relating to Draco Malfoy’s task that he must complete for the dark Lord. Happy?”

“Quite”, Eloise sniffed. “I’ve questioned Neville on the events pertaining to the MoM and it seems that your Slytherin yearmates’ claims were entirely based in fact. Voldemort really did lure Potter to the MoM by a vision of someone named Sirius – most likely Sirius Black- needing to be saved. This was all apparently a ploy to get Potter to remove a prophecy. What does this mean? How come You-Know-Who needed Potter to remove it? It doesn’t make any sense. If only the people mentioned in the prophesy could take it, then He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named could have gotten out himself as I doubt very much that he would care about a prophecy that didn’t concern him. He didn’t need Potter at all. And if it was all an elaborate ploy so that the Ministry wouldn’t be notified of his return, why did he show up in the end?”

“To be honest – and stop looking at me like that a Slytherin is perfectly capable of being truthful - I don’t know. You-Know-Who’s action don’t seem very rational.”

“Fantastic”, sighed Eloise. “The greatest dark Lord in centuries can’t keep his priorities strait. That’s all the further confirmation I needed that the world, the universe and everything is raving mad.”

“No kidding”, added Zabini.

“In any case”, said Eloise, trying to be more upbeat. “I have your shipment.” Reaching into her pockets, she took out four tiny boxes of wood. “I really must thank you Blaise, the unregistered wand you sold me made smuggling these in was far easier than usual. Do you want to inspect them?”

Blaise nodded and waved his wand over the tiny boxes Eloise had placed on the floor. They promptly grew in size and he quickly plied the lids off. Sitting carefully packed in hay were dozens of kinds of muggle alcohol.

As Zabini examined the products greedily, Eloise looked on dispassionately. “I charmed all of the bottles to be unbreakable, but packed them all in hay so they would make less noise. Couldn’t have my parents discovering my little business. As you can see, there’s a lot more than in previous years, I asked my cousin to select a wide variety. This should ensure your continued status in Slytherin house, if not increase it. I suppose we should both be glad that the wizarding world has but a very limited selection of alcohol to offer – only two kinds: butterbeer and firewisky. No wonder your house has a preference for the more exotic and refined. And as you don’t have any trouble dealing with such a lowly muggleborn as I – who is, if I do say so myself, a very good supplier thanks to my cousin running a pub- you are thus well established in a position of power.” Zabini was now dreamily caressing a bottle of Hazelnut liqueur, smiling stupidly while gazing into the distance, no doubt imagining what he could accomplish with so much merchandise.

Eloise looked at him and snorted. “I’m going to stop you right now Zabini, I have no desire of observing a Slytherin wank off to the thought of future deals. So please, restrain yourself until you get back to your quarters.”

This brought Zabini back to reality. He snapped his attention back to her and protested hotly. “I was doing no such thing!”

“Well you know what they say: Those who protest too loudly…Besides which, I do believe that is a blush staining you cheeks.” Eloise teased before descending into and uncontrollable fit of laugher.

Zabini, whose face was getting redder by the second, busied himself by putting all of the bottles he had taken out back in their respective crates.

Still giggling, Eloise asked “I do have a question for you though.”

“Yes?” ground out Zabini sounding very irritated.

“Where do wizards get their food?”

This was such an unexpected question that Blaise turned around and stared at her in puzzlement.

“Sorry, I could have sworn that I heard you asking where wizards get their food.”

“That’s what I asked” replied Eloise, now completely serious. “Where do wizards get their food? I’ve never heard of wizard farmers, and those that do care for plants always seems to be into the more dangerous and exotic varieties. You’ll never catch professor Sprout lecturing on the best way to cultivate carrots. I highly doubt that the wizarding world would buy its food from the muggles. The thought of House Elves walking into the local grocer every week is inconceivable. I suppose you could buy it directly from the muggle farmers, but then, where are the mills that would turn the wheat into flour? And what would the wizarding world have done in times of muggle famine? No, there are too many things wrong with that hypothesis. Besides which, I’ve never seen a grocer in either Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley. Surely you don’t conjure all the food? It would be a phenomenal waste of magical energy. I’ve already asked around Hufflepuff house tonight and nobody knew.” She then looked at Zabini expectantly.

Blaise stared back at her for a few seconds then scratched his head before muttering: “And THIS is what goes through a Hufflepuff’s brain all day ?!?” He then answered: “I don’t know.”

Eloise listened to him aghast. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re supposed to be my source for insight into all of the finicky workings of the wizarding world! Don’t wizards EVER think about their food?”

“We think about our food!” Zabini retorted. “How not to get it poisoned on its way from the kitchen to our plates!”

“But what about before the kitchens?” Eloise stated in disbelief. “How can a bunch of sixteen year olds not have the slightest idea where food comes from?”

Blaise shrugged “Dunno”.

“Well you better find out if you want another shipment at Christmas.”

“Awww, come on” whined Blaise. “Who am I supposed to ask? It’ll tarnish my image. They’ll all think I’m as crazy as a Hufflepuff. At least from you they’ll expect it. Remember the terms to our deal: I’ll do all of the asking for anything illegal or political as they would be expected questions from a Slytherin. Questions about food weren’t covered.”

Eloise smiled, disappointed, “I suppose they weren’t mentioned at all. Fine, you’re off the hook for this one Mr. Z. Though I do have a list of information I want you to supply.”

Zabini nodded, “You may list your requirements.”

“First of all,” said Eloise, peering at him intently. “I need more on wandless magic. The books you passed me, enlightening as they were, all expressed the same opinion. It is obvious that these were mere hypothesizes. The lack of concrete knowledge is understandable as so few are able to perform wandless magic and as those who can guard their secrets obsessively. What I do not understand is that all of these hypothesises express the same views on the subject.”

“Well,” replied Blaise “the general opinion held of wandless magic is that only the most powerful wizards can perform it and that …”

“Yes, Yes.” Eloise cut in impatiently “I know all that. No need to reiterate the contents of those books to me. The wand allows for the amplification and control of the wizards magic – accidental magic is the result of the wizard’s emotions reacting to the ambient magic – therefore the normal witch and wizard are incapable of performing wandless magic. If that was the case, how on earth did the wizarding community ever get established in the first place? If wand are as particular to the individual witch’s and wizard’s magic as Ollivander claims, how did they get invented? If someone did at some point decide to stuff a bit of dragon heartstring into a wooden stick and wave it pointlessly around, the most likely outcome would be that his magic wasn’t suited to the wand, and it would end there.”

“Listen, I don’t know, nobody knows. There’s no point getting so aggressive about it. I provided you with the most respected academic works. But at your insistence, I am perfectly willing to dig up the most ridiculous conjectures that were ever dreamed up on the subject by Wizardkind.” Zabini snapped rather ungraciously.

Eloise sighed and ran a hand through her hair, trying to soothe her irritation. “Sorry mate, I just didn’t like what I read. It kinda flew in the face of my opinions.”

“Oh yes” Blaise sneered “Let’s all sit down and have a pity party for poor, poor mudblood Midgeon. She can escape all the problem of the upcoming war by disappearing into the muggle world for a few years, until it’s all over. Not like the rest of us poor sods, whose families and fortunes are trapped in the conflict. Why did you even bother coming back this year at all?”

“Because I need to learn all I can about magical tracing, combat and transportation. The files on my family are sitting at the ministry waiting to be picked up by You-Know-Who and his band of merry followers. Unless I figure out how to fool magical tracing and hide my magical signature, my family and I can be traced wherever we go. In addition to which, I will need to use magic to fool the muggle system. You’re not exactly at the heart of the conflict either. Thanks to your mother’s activities, even He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named isn’t stupid enough to get her near his Death Eaters. And that includes pressuring you to join. Though I am muggleborn, I have a very low profile and should be able to keep out of this as long as I take measures of adequate protection. That’s where you come in. I need your help, your access to semi-legal knowledge. ”

“You do know that telling your business partners you need them is generally held to be bad form.” stated Zabini in a hard voice “It gives them too much leverage.”

Midgeon shrugged “I know. But what most Slytherins seem to miss is that having them royally pissed at you makes them more inclined not to act in their best interest, just to spite you. In most cases, the harm that anyone can do to you, outweighs any benefits by far.”

A ghost of a smirk drifted over his face “I suppose you may have a point. Apart from more books on wandless magic what else do you want?”

Eloise smiled at him in thanks. “I’ll need more books on spell creation, on defence, on the dark arts, on occlumency, on forms of magical tracing and on making untraceable illegal portkeys and other less popular forms of magical transportation.”

“That’s quite a list.”

“Which is why I will be teaching you my potato spell and all that I have learnt at the muggle women’s self-defence course I took this summer.”

“Women’s self-defence course?” commented Zabini distastefully.

“Which translates to ‘Cheap ways to incapacitate a stronger opponent’ but if you don’t want to learn, I won’t force you.” smirked Eloise.

“Well, when you put it that way…”

Eloise nodded. “I’ll teach you as soon as you bring the books, a little incentive never hurt anyone.”

“Deal. How is your occlumency training coming?”

“Pretty good. It’s hard to tell without a skilled opponent to practice against. But I’m becoming even more sensitive to intrusion, which is a good thing.”

“Did Snape try to read you mind again?”

“Yup!” Eloise giggled. “He does it to all of the non Slytherin students he crosses gazes with at the beginning of the year. As I couldn’t reveal my occlumency training as it would be too suspicious coming from a Hufflepuff , I had to use rather more .. shall we say… creative methods?”

Zabini’s eyes lit up in anticipation. “I noticed that Snape suddenly looked utterly disgusted at the beginning of the meal. Was that you?”

“Sure was.”

“So what did you do?” he prompted.

“Same technique as usual.” Eloise chortled. “This time, the theme was Dumbledore, Hagrid and the naughty nurse Pomfrey. I’ve never seen anyone put down their fork so fast.”

At this point, Zabini was howling in laughter, beating his fist on the seat, utterly incapable of coherent speech.

They joked around a few minutes more before shrinking the crates and parting ways.

It had been a successful night for both, the strange and often unstable partnership was safe for now. 


	6. Curse of a Dilettante

**Curse of a Dilettante**

It was a beautiful morning; the sun’s light flooded over the land, illuminating the skies in vivid colour; the birds sang, squawked and squabbled merrily in the trees; the squirrels hoped around on their busy business; the nocturnal beasts of the magical forbidden forest settled down for a merited day of rest; and despite all this, Eloise Midgeon was in a very, very, very bad mood.

She was presently sitting in the Great Hall holding her breath and counting to 10. You see, Eloise Midgeon also happened to have inadvertently rested her face on a wonderful stack of light crisp toast that had been scrumptiously covered in a nice thick layer of rich strawberry jam.

“Zacharias,” she mumbled, though the sound was muffled by her makeshift pillow. “Could you explain to me why the table is mushy and tastes like strawberries?”

“Because dear Rebecca attempted to draw you from your inferi-like state by tempting you with food. She appears to have encountered a few unexpected obstacles however.”

Eloise lowly lifted her jam smeared head and seethed “Sssso itssss your fault.”

“Seems to have worked nonetheless” Rebecca smiled perkily. “Don’t you think so Zachy dear?”

“The end result is the same I suppose…”

“With the added benefit of jam,” added Becca contritely.

“Of course.”

“SHUT UP! BOTH OF YOU!” raged Midgeon standing up and slamming her cup on the table. “AND IT’S NOT BLOODY FUNNY!”

“Whatever you say,” answered Zacharias sarcastically. “We understand that a cup toting, milk spraying, jam covered Hufflepuff with a bad hair day, inside-out robes, and smiley-faced frog slippers is to be regarded only with the most solemn and grave of countenances.”

Eloise sheepishly looked down at herself and the mess that she had created. Only then did she realize that she had inadvertently been providing entertainment for most of Hufflepuff house.

“Shows over people,” she sighed. “Go find yourselves someone else to laugh at. I’ll go get cleaned up.”

“Don’t forget we’re making our schedules this morning.”

“Oh. Thanks for reminding me.”

As she morosely plodded out of the hall, Eloise was met with bemused expressions from all sides. Luckily, ridiculousness was expected of a Hufflepuff. Still, rising to peoples’ expectations was not always complimentary.

OooooooooooooooooooooO

When Midgeon returned, Professor Sprout had already started making up the schedules for her year mates.

Zacharias had decided to continue with History of Magic as he had gotten an O in his OWLs and considered it and “easy credit”

Rebecca chose to keep up Divination for those very same reasons.

Hannah and Susan had of course taken all of the same classes, which included Charms, DADA, Herbology, Muggle Studies, Herbology and Ancient Runes.

It was soon time for Eloise to choose her courses and she approached Professor Sprout with trepidation.

“Come on dear,” Sprout smiled kindly at her. “I won’t eat you”

Eloise mumbled something about how her OWLs might.

The teacher laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous, you really did quite well on your tests. Let’s see, you got an O in Potions-I take it you will be continuing? Good. Another O in Transfiguration, Charms and Arithmancy – will you be taking those as well? See, not so bad is it. An Exceeds Expectations in DADA and History of Magic. No History of Magic? Can’t say I blame you. I’m afraid to say that you only achieved a P in Herbology. Your theoretical was very good, but your practical has always been abysmal.”

“Is there any way I could continue Professor?”

“Why do you want to continue? Though it saddens me to admit it of one of my Hufflepuffs, you obviously have no affinity for the subject.”

Midgeon shifted uncomfortably on her chair. “I know I suck at taking care of plants, but I want to be a mediwitch - from what I’ve heard, they think that if you can’t take care of plants, you can’t take care of people. Besides which, Herbology is incredibly useful in Potions. Please let me take it Professor, I’ll work harder I promise!”

Sprout smiled sadly at her, “I’m sorry dear, but you just don’t have what it takes. You have so many other subjects you’re good at – Why don’t you concentrate on them?”

However, Eloise was not so easily deterred. “What if I get Neville to tutor me? Don’t accept me for now, but say come Christmas, would you reevaluate your decision if I improve?”

Sprout sighed, “Honey, I don’t think you want to be doing this. Why don’t you play on your strengths? St Mungoe’s has accepted apprentices without Herbology NEWTs in the past.”

“But all of the great potion masters have a solid background in Herbology.”

Sprout shook her head. “Your theoretical knowledge should be largely sufficient. You won’t make it in NEWT Herbology dear. It doesn’t matter how hard you work, the ability for Herbology comes from the soul.”

Eloise was silent a long while, tearing a loose piece of parchment into smaller and smaller pieces.

“What of the rest?” she finally asked in a subdued voice.

“You got an EE in Ancient Runes.”

“I’ll take it”

“You also got a T in Astronomy, both practical and theoretical, so you will have to retake fifth year Astronomy.”

“Do I have to?” Eloise whined. “Couldn’t I finish it by correspondence course or something?”

“ ‘Fraid not dear. If you want to graduate from Hogwarts you’ll have to take it again. I’ll put you down for Wednesday and Friday nights with the Griffindor and Hufflepuff fifth years. There we go – all finished. Ernie!”

Midgeon kept a polite smile on her face as she picked up her schedule. As soon as she had turned her back on her head of house, a ferocious scowl light her features and she stormed out of the Great Hall, sending a few first years scurrying for cover.

OoooooooooooooooO

“Oi mate! Why are you so bloody moody?” said Mandy sitting down beside her for Ancient Runes.

Eloise looked up from carving and inking in a hippopotamus at the corner of the desk. She would never indulge in this pastime were she in muggle school, but magic allowed you to do things otherwise deemed unacceptable. Thank Merlin she was a witch! She found defiling furniture a very relaxing exercise, almost meditative in a way. A combination of drawing and the innate urge to destroy things “Cause it’s fun!” that humans seem to possess.

“Because I have to retake fifth year astronomy-with no more hope of passing it this year than I did the last - perhaps even less; because Madman Sinistra will undoubtedly throw me off the tower or jump off herself when she sees me back in her classroom; because Sprout will not let me into NEWT Herbology, no matter how much degrading pleading and groveling I do; because the stated reason for this is that I ‘don’t have the soul for it.’ And …” Here, Eloise paused to take breath before continuing on, even more disconsolately than before. “Because I am insanely jealous of Draco Malfoy.”

Mandy merely raise an eyebrow.

Eloise soon finished her rant. “And I am jealous because I wish I could sneer in a similar snooty aristocratically refined fashion at all of my aforementioned reasons to be miserable.”

“So sneering at your problems is the way to go,” said Mandy rather nonplussed.

“Of course! I’m positive that sneering so condescendingly down at them would turn mountains into the smallest molehills.”

“So what exactly triggered this new fascinating line of reasoning?” said Mandy massaging her temples, mentally asking the universe what she had done to deserve being confronted with a bloody nutter Puff, friend though she be, so early in the day.

“Oh, I just ran into him, his lapdog and his two pet troglodytes on my way here from breakfast. I’m inconsolable!” Eloise wailed melodramatically. “The physiognomy of my face was not designed to sneer, its physically impossible for me! I’ve got a round pleasant overtly Hufflepuffish face! Zacharias can sneer! Rebecca can sneer! You can sneer! Why can’t I sneer? I want to sneer!”

Midgeon took out a hand mirror from her bag. “I will sneer if I need to practice all month to get it!” She then proceeded to make ridiculously contorted faces at her reflection.

Needless to say, Mandy was infinitely glad when class finally started. 


	7. Sick Sick Mind

**The Disturbed and Hungry Ramblings of a Sick, Sick Mind**

“Why yes, Mandy! I had a positively delightful summer! But I’m still glad to be back at Hogwarts, you know how it is.”

I was glad to be back at Hogwarts. And I highly doubted she knew how it was. I was, of course, regretting the loss of my leisure summer hours, when I could sit around and do absolutely nothing. All day. All week. All summer really. Or so I had decided to try and fool myself into believing. They say memory is very subjective, so it wouldn’t be too difficult to voluntarily tweak mine a bit. Right?

Breathe in… out… concentrate deeply…

Go deep within self to happy place….chocolate place…ice cream place….place of lemon merang pie, cheesecake, ginger cookies and doughnuts…

…am showing definite signs of hunger – too many food references…

I guess that’s what you get for squashing your breakfast instead of eating it. …seem to have gotten a little sidetracked...

Concentrate. Go back to square one. Repeat mantra: with enough will power, one can purposefully modify one’s memory. Time to test the power of denial.

This summer, I did not spend many hours each day catching up on my muggle education under the vigilant eye of my mother, and father, and grandmother. I didn’t spend the rest of the time babysitting my younger siblings. And most importantly of all, I didn’t spend the summer listening to my muggle friends tear into each other, behind each other’s backs, with a cruelty I had previously thought them incapable of. I did not sit there wriggling uncomfortably, wishing I was somewhere else. I did not pretend to agree with them while they disparaged each other’s character. I did not give a disfigured cross between a nod and a shrug when a response was necessary. I did not reply to their rants with noncommittal noises: no grunts, no mmmhs, no uuuuhs. No meaningless phrases crossed my lips: no “I know,” “Yah, well,” “That’s life”. No desperate and none too subtle attempts to change the subject were made by me. The conversation did not inevitably turn to badmouthing a different friend. I did not eventually give up and resign myself to nodding wisely while muttering “Ahhh… I see…” I did not sit there all the while - bored, sullen, horrified, secretly wondering whether I was too inconsequential to be denigrated; wondering what had happened to the wonderful friendship that had united us for four years; wondering why they still bothered to pretend to be friends. Of course not.

It didn’t happen.

What I seem to remember is solely the result of the imaginings of my sick, sick mind.

I had a very pleasant summer instead.

I caught up with old friends and had lots of fun.

A very, very large amount of fun. Enough fun to cover the whole of England in a five foot layer of chocolate fudge. Enough fun to fill the Pacific Ocean with orange juice.

…

Right.  
…

Damn. Not working.

You’d think that a mind that is capable of forgetting five years’ worth of star charts for the OWLS exam wouldn’t have any trouble forgetting a few dozen small incidents that took up most of the summer.

Fine. I give up. Sick, sick mind - you win. It all happened. It’s not as if I look down on the practice in general. I doubt there has ever been a student in the whole of history who hasn’t enjoyed disparaging at least some of their teachers. It’s a widespread practice, we all do it. Belittling your rivals is a rather wicked pleasure commonly enjoyed. But it seems to me that you just don’t do that to your friends unless you are particularly angry with them. Or is that my Puff loyalty shinning through? Dunno. Am pissed at all of them.

Yes, I was bloody glad to be back at Hogwarts.

And everyone back home could go screw themselves.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

“Miss Midgeon, what is the answer to the question?” Professor Vector’s voice cracked through the air, dispelling a wonderfully vivid daydream in which I befriended Dean Thomas and co-founded a Hogwarts Football team, whose first practice lead to a ball crashing through the greenhouse windows, thus angering the plants that then turned upon Professor Sprout; we got to watch while eating deliciously large hot and juicy chicken teriyaki sandwiches.

Shaking the rather wistful smile from my face and whipping the drool from my chin, I realized with embarrassment that I had no idea what the question was and was therefore incapable of answering.

“Well, Miss Midgeon?” he prompted impatiently.

“I, uh, I…”

“Yes?” Vector ground out testily.

Shrinking into my desk, I hesitantly replied, “I don’t know. But maybe if you would repeat the question?”

Vectors crinkled old eyes sought me out, questioningly. The evidence of my guilt was undoubtedly displayed on my face for all to see for he gave me a knowing look before quirking his lips nastily. I steeled myself for what I knew was coming.

“Attention everyone!” He proclaimed, gaining the undivided attention of the class. “Miss Midgeon has been kind enough to demonstrate the necessity of continuing to study during the summer. Before you, rests the consequences of an uninterrupted summer of sloth.”

A few giggles erupted and I hung my head in shame. It wasn’t fair! I was bloody good at this class, and I could have answered the question if he would just repeat it! Unfortunately, Professor Vector was keenly aware of this fact and had decided to punish my lack of attention

“Miss Midgeon has forgotten last year’s material, material essential to passing the OWLS. This is a NEWT level class; you have all gotten this far because you merit it. This essential truth will not change, only those worthy will remain in this class. I will not tolerate anyone, even one of our previous star pupils, resting on their laurels. Is this clear?”

A murmur of agreement swept the class. Vector turned towards Hermione with a smile, she has been straining her hand in the air for quite some time. “Miss Granger. Would you care to explain the answer to the question?”

As Hermione gleefully recited the answer, I clenched my fists until my nails dung into my palms and breathed deeply in an effort to dispel my anger. Mandy gently poked my arm from the seat beside me and sent me a sympathetic look, mouthing out “Bloody bastard”. I liked Professor Vector and would go so far as to say I was usually rather a favorite of his, but he was unremittingly cruel to anyone who did not see fit to listen in his class. He was kind to those who put in a lot of effort and did not achieve results. But his sharp intelligence and dry wit would not spare you if he though you had talent and could do more. I was sitting in Arithmancy class, surrounded by Zacharias and our Ravenclaw friends Mandy, Terry and Lisa. Rebecca had long ago decided to take Muggle Studies instead as she claimed to be no good with numbers, which I readily believed as math was not considered worthy of study by most purebloods. Sure, most could add, subtract, divide and multiply (daily commercial transactions would be rendered unfeasible if they could not), but most wizards were oblivious to the most elementary algebra. The class, not being very popular, consisted mainly of all the Ravenclaws, Ernie, Zacharias and I, and a smattering of Griffindors and Slytherins. (Namely - Granger, Nott and Zabini)

It was only the first class of the afternoon of the first day and I had already managed to wake up in strawberry jam, get snubbed by Malfoy, be disappointed by my inability to sneer, drop all of my Ancient Runes books all over the grand staircase of the entrance hall and get covered in boils when Rebecca finally managed a nonverbal spell in the final minutes of Defense Against the Dark Arts. I had, of course, given up on her being able to produce a non verbal spell by then, and was busy laughing at her face screwed in concentration - which may or may not have affected the choice of her spell. Unfortunately, it was a rather wonky jinx so when I tried to fix if with Finite Incantatem, the boils sprouted feeler like growths, thus occasioning my first visit of the year to Madam Pomefrey; which lead to my quickly grabbing an unsatisfying something for lunch and stuffing my face on my way to Arithmancy, dribbling sauce down the front of my robes.

“…For homework, read chapters three through seven inclusively and write a five foot long essay on the structural relevance of the number twenty-one,” Vector finished.

Packing up, I turned to Mandy. “Want to come down to the kitchens before attacking our Ancient Runes Homework?” I asked tiredly.

“Sure. I could use a bloody snack.” She yawned.

“Well I’m sure the house elves can be persuaded to scare up a few blood dripping carcasses for our resident vampire, if you’re in the mood.” I snorted before scurrying off.

“Shut the bloody hell up you bloody scoundrel!” Mandy yelled happily before running to catch up.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

I hated Professor Slughorn.

This was a statement of fact.

As soon as the fat man opened the door and smiled demonically at Potter, I knew that this was going to be a very long double period. He stood guard at the entrance and forced us to file past him, one by one, undoubtedly in order to look us over and make sure he hadn’t accidentally missed someone influential. He slobbered enthusiastically over Potter and Zabini, making an utter fool of himself in his false humility and friendliness. He could not have made it more obvious that he was sucking up to them for all he was worth, if he had pleaded permission to let him lick the bottom of their shoes clean and provided a corpulent carpet for them to tred upon.

The Slug (as I have henceforth determined to call him), greeted Weasley and Granger respectfully, as Potter’s entourage, they were evidently worthy of mild consideration. The rest of us were treated indifferently. I didn’t mind. I just wished the sight of him was less sickening.

Taking out my books, I sent Zabini a disgusted look. He merely smirked before pretending to half-ignore the professor that was fussing around him, like a fly over a pile of shit. Blaise obviously found the whole thing hilarious and the more the professor fussed, the more he ignored him - and the more he ignored him, the more the professor fussed, trying pathetically to make himself endearing. The whole thing was rather fascinating, in a morbid sort of way.

Eventually, even the Slug realized that he couldn’t spend the whole class fawning over Zabini, so he strode back to the front of the room, where the Griffindors and Ernie were wearing doped-up expressions. Potter’s lack of books allowed the Slug to show off his amazing good nature and generosity (feel the sarcasm). At last, the class actually began.

As he brought our attention to each cauldron, even I had to admit he was at least a competent potion master. So maybe he liked showing off a little. Maybe he had started hovering over Hermione when he realized she held Potter’s admiration and possessed admirable reflexes that allowed her to spring consistently from her seat and answer questions, like mechanical clockwork. 

Despite his faults, he might still be a descent teacher. Probably not as good as Snape, but there wasn’t any sense crying over spilt milk. With renewed determination, I decided to take full advantage of whatever knowledge he might have to offer.

Like the rest of the class, I coveted the Felix Felicis and was determined to acquire it. As I prepared my ingredients, I realized that I stood no chance if I followed the exact instructions of the textbook; Hermione Granger would beat me every time. The Draught of Living Death was not one I had ever attempted to make, not finding it particularly useful. I quickly sat and jolted down a few improvements, only quickly balancing them out to make sure the class wouldn’t explode. The Draught of Living Death was complex and I was already on a tight schedule, the rest of the class having already started. Forcefully calming my shaking hands, I began to brew.

The intense concentration I always fall into when making potions allowed me to place my jitters aside and concentrate on the task at hand. Shred the leaves…add them in… stir clockwise once…twice…thrice…sprinkle in the chopped root…stir clockwise once again… Oops, went a bit too far…half a turn anticlockwise to balance it out…

Damn.

That purple bubble was not supposed to happen.

Suddenly, reality kicked in, I was back in class, most everyone was looking at everybody else’s progress. A clockwise turn that went a bit too far was just what was needed to counteract the slightly contaminated leaves, my counter-clockwise half turn at such a critical stage had upset the whole process and just ruined my chances of winning the prize. I should have learnt to listen to my instincts; they were generally right when it came to potions. I dejectedly looked over at Granger’s potion and discovered, to my delight, that it was not going as well as usual. My potion had lost the possibility of perfection, but I might make it just good enough to surpass Hermione’s if she screwed up just a bit more. I still had a chance.

I worked frenetically until Slughorn asked us to stop stirring. Finally catching my breath, I observed that my potion and Granger’s were close, though her’s was still better. I slumped my shoulders in disappointment and watched the Professor walk through the class. He smiled pleasantly at Zabini and Daphne Greengrass, looking rather unimpressed at Nott’s fuming concoction. He gave Malfoy the cold shoulder, probably trying to distance himself from his father’s Death Eater status - had the Slug arrived at the school last year, I think he would have been singing a rather different tune.

Slughorn then proceeded to our table, he nodded at my Ravenclaw friends and spotting my potion, began to form a smile. His approving gaze changed to displeasure when he saw my Hufflepuff crest and changed to scorn when he noticed my gravy stained robes. He looked at me as at a bug - worse than a bug, as a blood sucking parasite that he wanted nothing more than to squish before it could contaminate him.

In that moment, he secured my hatred.

The Slug had nothing against potentially influential Muggleborns. Oh, no. He simply thought Hufflepuffs were not worth dung. No ambition. They never achieved anything. A bunch of untalented lazy slobs. Not worth his attention or consideration. Somehow, the gravy stains had confirmed all of his prejudice against my house. I was sick of the discrimination. I was sick of my house being dismissed. I was sick of being taken for a fool. I would not be insulted in such a way.

Hufflepuff would have its revenge. 


	8. A Quidditch Scrimmage

**A Quidditch Scrimmage**

It was late on the Saturday morning that marked the end of the first week of school. The Hufflepuffs were having one of their usual in-house scrimmage matches. These games were held at the very beginning of the year, before school quidditch had started up and before anyone had too much homework. The gorgeous weather might also have been a plus.

Susan Bones was barrelling down the field, quaffle in hand, when she was cut off by Eloise Midgeon innocently flying by, at a leisurely pace. Susan was forced into a tailspin to avoid her, thus dropping the quaffle. Eloise snatched the ball out of the air as soon as it was free and, after a bit of fumbling, tucked it firmly into the crook of her arm, and sped off towards the opposite side of the Quidditch pitch

“That was a foul! YOU CHEATER!” Susan screamed after her.

“No it wasn’t!” Eloise yelled back, dodging players on her way.

“Not technically!” added Zacharias who was flying parallel to her. “She didn’t make any sudden course changes for the purpose of blocking you. If anyone committed a foul, it was you Bones! Almost crashing into her like that!”

“You need to review the rule book Sus! I’d been on that course for at least twenty yards!” Eloise laughed, violently bodychecking Hannah, almost sending her off her broom.

“I had to change courses to avoid Smith!” said Bones, now in hot pursuit. “You planned it that way! CHEATERS! THE BOTH OF YOU! ”

“We followed the letter of the law!”

“But not the spirit of it!”

Eloise ignored Susan’s latest comment in favour of flying directly towards Rebecca, who was covering the goals. At the last second, she dipped underneath her, hooking her elbow onto Becca’s broom to give herself a bit more momentum as she gently threw the ball through the center hoop, that was no more than a couple feet away. The move also served the purpose of hindering Rebecca’s movement, which lead to a beautiful score. Unfortunately, Eloise had nothing to slow her down so she crashed painfully into the goal a moment later, winding herself.

Rebecca looked down at her exasperated before quickly grabbing the neck of her robes to steady her. “You know, you’re the only person I know that can manage to injure themselves almost every time they decide to play a friendly game of quidditch, _without bulgers_.”

A few faint gasps was all she got in reply. Eloise was now steadying her broom with her knees while hugging the goal ring for dear life, trying rather desperately to get her breath back.

“If you don’t call that a foul, I don’t know what is!” fumed Susan, who was hovering nearby.

“Eloise didn’t grab hold of the Keeper’s broom, she merely got tangled up, accidentally hooking her elbow over the broom,” commented Zacharias.

“That not what the rules mean and you know it! Erniiiee!!”

“I’m afraid the move was perfectly legal,” Macmillan smiled bemusedly. “I don’t know how you do it Eloise. Get you and Zacharias together and you play the dirtiest game of quidditch I’ve ever seen, and it’s always within the rules.”

“They’re a stain to Hufflepuff honour!” screeched Susan. “Thank Merlin, Midgeon isn’t on the house team! She’d destroy our reputation in two seconds flat! She’d make the Slytherins look rule abiding and gentle!”

Eloise, still coughing weakly, stuck her tongue out at Susan, eliciting a rise from the congregating players.

“I can’t throw, can’t catch,” she wheezed. “And my flying isn’t exactly the greatest either. How else do you expect me to pose you a challenge? Think of it this way, I’m helping you practice before you go up against the Slytherins.”

“You may all laugh,” said Bones darkly. “What about that time she knocked Ernie clean off his broom by stopping in mid air? Letting him nearly impale himself on the end of her broom?”

“I was stuck using the old school brooms back then, what else was I supposed to come up with? Besides which, we were only ten feet from the ground when I did, nothing bad would of happened.”

Macmillian stepped in to diffuse the situation. “Susan, relax. All I got was a bruise- three years ago. Now what would you say to accompanying me to lunch?”

Luckily, Susan accepted with a blush, and everyone went their separate way, leaving the three friends alone.

“Eloise, I think you can let go of the post now.”

Midgeon merely whimpered, tightening her hold.

“Oh! In the name of Urdrich the Unclean! I’ll help you down,” said Becca, gently prying off her arm from the goal and passing it around her shoulder. “That really was a rather stupid move.”

“I scored on you though, didn’t I?” hissed Midgeon painfully through gritting teeth.

“Yes, you did. You are aware that Zaharias helps you find dumb though effective ways to circumvent the rules, just because you’re the only one daft enough to actually follow through?”

“Oi! I resent that accusation,” muttered Smith. He was ignored.

“I’m the one who came up with that one. We never do anything terribly dangerous. It’s more fun to play rough! You should try it!” said Eloise enthusiastically, before wincing and gently touching her rapidly bruising stomach. “I think I’ll go see Madam Pomfrey before it gets any worse. I’ll see you two at lunch.”

“You sure you’ll be ok? You don’t want me to come with you?”

“Yes, dear Becca hen,” she said waving them off. “It’s just a bruise. I’ll live.”

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Half way to the hospital wing, Eloise was forced to admit that she was suffering from injuries far more serious than a simple bruise and was regretting turning Rebecca’s offer down. Hobbling down the corridors, nearly doubled over, she hoped that someone would pass by if she happened to faint, sissy as it may have sounded. She had begun coughing blood and her sense of hearing had kind of zoned out. If she were to guess, she would venture that these were not exactly good signs.

Madam Pomfrey was helping Professor Snape take note of the state of the Medi-potions when the doors of the Hospital wing swung open and Eloise Midgeon came tumbling through. She was dressed in an old Hufflepuff quidditch uniform, the yellow of the robes clashing with the blood spattered front.

“Good gracious child! What have you done to yourself this time!?” Madam Pomfrey exclaimed.

Eloise teetered across the floor, concentrating all of her energies into not collapsing. “Qui..quiddi..ditch mam.”

Madam Pomfrey grabbed a pair of hospital robes and helped her stumble across the floor. “Quidditch! I assume it’s one of those in-house Hufflepuff matches. No one there to supervise! They should be banned! Irresponsible heads of houses, I’ll be sure to have a talk with professor Sprout. The injuries keep getting worse every year”

Eloise sat heavily down on the closet hospital cot and began to undress; any modicum of modesty she might once have possessed having deserted her in the face of pain.

Madam Pomfrey shook her head in a huff before casting diagnostic charms over her. “Heavy bruising to the stomach, cracked rib and slight damage to several internal organs. Why you children insist on playing such dangerous games, I will never know.”

“How else are we to obtain the pleasure of seeing you?” Eloise rasped.

Pomfrey healed her rib with a spell and gave her a potion to drink – which she quickly downed, plugging her nose - before pausing to examine her. “I recognize an attempt to butter me up for what it is. What do you want this time, Miss Midgeon?”

Eloise, now feeling much better, smiled far from disconcerted. “I want to learn magical healing.”

“Then I suggest you apply for an internship at St. Mungoes after your graduation.”

“I want you to teach me,” she stated.

“That’s quite impossible. I’m far too busy s it is, furthermore, it would be considered favouritism. Though you have found yourself in my Hospital wing at least once during the first week of school for six years running, this does not entitle you to privileges denied to the student population. Besides which, Merlin knows what you’d attempt on your own! No, no it’s much safer if you wait until after Hogwarts.”

Alright, thought Eloise contemplatively, if asking strait out didn’t work, time to try the pathetic tear jerker plea and a few threats. “Please mam, in these unsettled times I’d like to learn a useful skill. Some of my friends were in the DA, but I’m no fighter. This would be one of the few ways I could contribute. I am going to learn, whether you deign to teach me or not. I’d of course feel more secure with some qualified supervision, but if I’m forced to do without…”

Madam Pomfrey looked at her with a smoldering glare.

Eloise was getting desperate; you did not want to be in the hands of a mad Mediwitch. “I’ll help you with the paper work. I’ll scrub all of the bed pans and any other dirty work you might want to have done. Pleeease….” Eloise begged.

“Oh, all right!” Madam Pomfrey relented. “But only to stop you from doing more harm to yourself. Cursing off one’s nose indeed!”

Midgeon was left to savour her victory as the school nurse left to get a jar of lotion for her bruises.

She hummed contentedly, swinging her legs back and forth. Looking around in anticipation, she suddenly noticed that she was being observed by Professor Snape. With an undignified squeak, she toppled over the other side of the cot.

That was embarrassing, she thought pressing her hand to her flaming cheeks, she hoped he hadn’t been there all along. Was he there when she had begun to disrobe in the middle of the room? Bah, he was an old man, nothing he hadn’t seen before.

Suddenly she lifted her head in alarm. That whole schpeel about helping out the war efforts, while insignificant to Madam Pomfrey, could be dangerous information in the hand of a spy. No, she was being ridiculous, her profile was low enough that no one cared.

Cautiously, she peeked over the edge of the cot. The professor was still peering in her direction, looking decidedly amused. Snape, amused; how disturbing.

Eloise cleared her throat and stood up straitening her hospital robes. “Sorry Professor,” she said nonchalantly. “Hadn’t seen you there.” She sat back down.

Snape, instead of going back to whatever he had been doing, continued to scrutinize her.

Eloise had heard complaints about the professor’s disconcerting glare, but she had never been subject to it herself, being sufficiently talented to avoid notice during potions class. She fidgeted uncomfortably, wondering what the hell was his problem. He had seemed to study her, rather as if he were examining a rare deformation of moonstock, since the opening feast. Eloise desperately thought back. Had he gotten through her occlumency shields? Surely she would have noticed. But she lacked formal training and he was good enough to fool You-Know-Who. Had he thus discovered her use of the Dark Arts? Her partnership with Zabini? Had Zabini betrayed her? Whichever way she chose to look at it, the outcome was not good. Bloody hell! Would that creep look away!

As soon as Pomfrey came with the lotion and they had set up a time for lessons, Eloise tripped out of the infirmary in search of her Slytherin informer. Zabini either knew the causes of this disturbing new development, or he would damned well find out. 


	9. Aperio Vis Vires

**Aperio Vis Vires**

Hufflepuff house stood in a rather short, squat and unremarkable tower that jutted out from the dominating castle. The quaint garden that lay beneath it did little to improve its presence. Something in the décor jarred unseemly. Perhaps it was the color of the flowers or the fact that the homely little tower had long ago been swallowed by a mound of green.

The ivy’s groping, creeping hand had slowly claimed possession of these walls; its torturous veins leeching life giving water from the mortar, gradually crumbling it to dust. Ivy and stone, forever united; one to fall without the other. Only the windows, thanks to the commitment of many a caring elf, had remained free of the ancient hungering plant.

If one looked within these east-facing windows, one would at first blink to try and adjust one’s eyesight before observing the scene below.

The room was large, but not overtly so. On one side stood a massive fireplace, the fire lit. Black sofas and armchairs littered the floor. What would otherwise have been a pleasant scene was ruined by the canary yellow comforters and banners that clashed horribly with the grey stone. 

A rather rumpled drabby looking girl sat in a corner. Her eyes were closed, her eyebrows drawn in concentration, her mouth pinched and narrow. A group of black robed youth sat at a nearby table doing homework, occasionally shooting her irritated glances… or spitballs.

Suddenly, a pained expression crossed her face. She scrunched her nose. A spasm shook her narrow shoulders and she shifted her weight. The tension built up.

“Aaaaaahhh…ATCHOOOOO!!!” Midgeon sneezed.

“Finally! Will you stop sitting still at last! It’s unnatural,” yelled Rebecca jumping out of her seat from which she had been scowling intermittently.

After blowing her nose, Eloise adopted a rather imperious expression. “I was trying to perform a bit of wandless magic! I had hoped you’d be a bit more supportive. And I hardly see how my sitting still would bother you. It’s hardly disruptive.”

“You NEVER sit still unless you’re actually sleeping while pretending to pay attention during class,” continued an outraged Rebecca. “You constantly fidget!”

“And that’s a good thing?!” cried Eloise in disbelief.

“That’s all in the past now,” soothed Zacharias, attempting to quell the argument before it blew out of proportion. “Look! You really did manage to make the feather move.”

“I did?” Eloise looked down at the table before her. The feather (the subject of her testing) did indeed lie several inches from its initial location. “YES! I DID IT! I, IN THE STEPS OF MERLIN HIMSELF, HAVE MANAGED TO PERFORM WANDLESS MAGIC!” 

“…or have managed to perform a conveniently directed sneeze,” muttered Rebecca.

“Ohh…” Eloise deflated, her momentary euphoria dissipating into thin air. The group at a nearby table laughed raucously.

“I suppose I have you to thank for the stylish new addition to my robes,” said Midgeon dryly, lifting up her spitball covered sleeve.

“We’re simply showing our appreciation of Muggle customs,” smirked Rebecca as the others continued to wallow in mirth. “You shouldn’t have taught us. You make too good a target sitting there immobile with your eyes closed for minutes at a time.”

Eloise sighed in frustration. Her weekend had been less than stellar. Far from likening it to the depths of space, she would have described it as a sun deprived bug crawling at the bottom of a mine. She had finally managed to track down Zabini and confront him with her suspicions of Snape, only to have him collapse in laughter at her “Puff paranoia”. He had patted her condescendingly on the shoulder before walking off in a noticeably brighter mood composing some poor ditty or other glorifying her stupidity. She sometimes thought he was as bad as peeves.

On the Slug Front, her revenge had ground to a complete halt. She had tried to recruit fellow conspirators but had encountered a wall of apathy. No one cared. Everyone who took potions was simply relieved that Snape no longer taught it. Except maybe… Malfoy? Cross that, he would sooner throw deadly curses at her than associate with a Mudblood. Arrogant little Daddy’s boy! It was proof of her desperation the thought had even crossed her mind. She’d do it alone but had yet to come up with anything of suitable poetic justice. It would simply have to wait.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Every weeknight, the charms study club met in one of the castle’s old forgotten sitting rooms. It all began when a friendship was formed between three Ravenclaws and three Hufflepuffs in their third year. They despaired of comfortable places to socialize; in the library the quiet seeking vulture lurked; in the light of the Great Hall by houses they were classed; the fresh free air was cold in winter; and, the dark deep corners of the school were occupied by icky couples. By luck, Professor Flitwick overheard some of his favorite Charms students bemoaning their plight. He quickly proposed a club, a room and even offered to come up himself every once in awhile as a guest lecturer if they wanted to study some more obscure branches of charms. His offer had been taken up many times over the years. It was thanks to this that Eloise knew anything about spell modification and creation. The initial six members had remained faithful throughout the years and others were always welcome to come and go. 

They were presently taking a break (procrastinating) from homework and talking of whatever inconsequential thing passed through their minds.

“Have you seen how much Sally-Ann Perks, Padma’s friend, changed over the summer? It’s the ugly duckling story come to life,” commented Zacharias who was leisurely slouching in an armchair. “Seems half the school came back from vacation far prettier.”

“And the other half came back looking worse than a squashed bullfrog. People seem to forget the other side of the story: the cute chick that turns into a turkey,” said Eloise. 

“Really,” said Lisa sarcastically. “Why didn’t they immortalize that story? It would go along the lines: Once upon a time, there was a beautiful fledgling, whom everybody loved because she was as cute as a button. But one day she grew and turned ugly and was very sad because no one loved her anymore. The end.”

Eloise snorted, “You’re right. It’s hardly the happy ending.”

“What do turkey chicks look like d’you think?” pondered Zacharias out of the blue. “Are they actually cute?”

“Dunno, never seen one,” said Terry. “Baby things are always cute.”

“Baby slugs aren’t cute.”

“That’s all relative isn’t it? They’re certainly cutter than the big fat slugs.”

“And baby slugs probably look cute to the other slugs.”

“Why in Merlin’s bloody name are we discussing the aesthetic qualities of young slugs?”

“Because it’s not related in any way to the homework we are supposed to be completing.”

“Right.”

“Eloise, aren’t you supposed to be heading off to Astronomy class?” reminded Lisa.

“Hummm. I do believe you’re supposed to be there in two minutes,” said Mandy with some amusement, looking at her watch.

“BLOODY HELL!” yelled Midgeon rocketing up from her relaxed position on the rug.

She hopped around on one foot pulling on her shoes, desperately looking around for her bag. “Professor Sinistra is going to KILL ME!!”

“AArgh!” she tripped and fell to the floor face first.

“You’ll certainly make it to the tower on time lying down,” teased Zacharias sardonically. 

“Oh, go take a dip in the lake!” Eloise spat while running out the door, laughter echoing in her wake.

OooooooooooooooooO

She finally burst in to Astromony class just as Sinistra was finishing role call. She lumbered over to her desk as well she could while heaving like a laboring gorilla. Heads turned her way, accompanied by cruel whispers and muffled giggles.

“What kind of an idiot has to repeat their Astronomy OWLs? She must be stupider than Longbottom.”

“That would mean she got a T – Troll.”

“Looks like one in any case.”

“Heard her acne was so bad she tried to transfigure her face, but only ended up blasting off her nose.”

“Shame she didn’t blast off her entire face instead.”

“What an ugly cow.”

Fifth year Griffindors, she though wryly, nothing quite like them for subtlety of language and sensitivity of feeling. 

“Miss Midgeon,” stressed Professor Sinistra. “What fantastical excuse will you use this time to justify your lateness?” 

Eloise looked up, her eyes wide and honest, a tad too honest if truth be told. “I’m terribly sorry Professor. I lost track of the time.”

“Fifteen points from Hufflepuff for disrupting class,” barked Sinistra.

Eloise bowed her head gravely. “A most just punishment Professor.” 

Though she incarnated the very paragon of politeness, there was nevertheless something ethereal in her manner, impossible to pinpoint, that hinted of mockery. Sinistra hated it, that hidden insolence, the promise of something else entirely once her back was turned. 

Yet, as nothing had technically been done, Sinsitra merely twitched in response, as if restraining herself from some unspeakable deed, before turning on her heels and marching back up to the front of the class.

Miss Midgeon always arrived late, possessed an utter and complete lack of interest in the subject she taught, and whenever reprimanded was dismissively civil as if humoring a small child. Courteous to a fault, any reprisal would seem unwarranted. What? Send her to detention for being too well mannered? It was laughable. 

Sinistra had desperately tried to persuade the OWLS committee to pass her most hated student. Praising, cajoling, appealing to their better feelings, begging, threatening had all failed before she had finally descended into a fit of hysterical rage and held the wizened old examiners at wandpoint. That had been the end of it and Headmaster Dumbledore had given her a rather stern lecture about the duties of a teacher as she wept in despair. Thus, Midgeon was back in her class.

She could feel her malicious eyes burn into the back of her head as she lectured. She continued, hesitating and stumbling over material she could have recited in her sleep forty summers ago. Finally she could stand it no more, she whisked around only to find that Midgeon was disrespectfully yawning and doodling in her notebook. 

“Miss Midgeon!”

“Yes, Professor?” she replied pertly.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking notes Professor,” said Midgeon aloofly raising her eyebrows by a mere fraction of an inch.

Again, that implicit sense of insult hung in the air between them. Sinistra strode over to her and ripped her notebook from her hand.

“These notes are insufficient!” she crowed in triumph. “You’ll be having detention with Filch next week!”

Eloise watched in bafflement as Sinistra giddily ordered them to go out and observe the stars. Was it her imagination, or did the Professor’s step have a definite waltzing quality? Did it really give her such pleasure to land one of her students in detention? 

OoooooooooooooooO

“You received detention from Sinistra again!” laughed Rebecca incredulously.

“Oh, shut it! She has it in for me I tell you!” said Eloise rather viciously stabbing her note paper with her quill, waiting for DADA to start.

“I’m actually surprised it took this bloody long for sparks to fly,” added Mandy turning around in her seat.

Eloise gave her a look that would have reduced many a lesser demon to ash. Mandy merely smirked in reply.

“Now I’ve got detention with Filch,” Eloise whined. “Anybody want to volunteer to take my place? We could fool them with polyjuice.”

“No way! You’re on your own for this one!” quickly interjected Rebecca.

“Such loyal friends I have!” she complained. “Sorting hat’s a bloody liar. Loyal Hufflepuff, my arse!”

Unfortunately, Snape had just walked in and her last two words rang loudly in the ensuing silence.

“As interesting as your anatomy may be, Miss Midgeon, I have a class to teach. If you would permit?” said Professor Snape dryly.

Eloise embarrassedly nodded while trying to inconspicuously sink into the floor.

Snape began his lecture.

“I trust that by now you all understand the importance of not underestimating you opponents. Just as important, is knowing your own strength, your own limits. To these ends we will practice the Aperio Vis Vires spell today. Yes, miss Granger, I am perfectly aware that this spell is not on the curriculum. I am sure that your know-it-all self is capable of comprehending that it is nonetheless important. Copy down the instructions from the board and we will then have a class demonstration.”

“The purpose of this spell is to measure your stores of magic. Point your wand at the middle of your left hand and pronounce the incantation. The color and intensity of the thread of light that will form indicates the strength of your magical reserves. In decreasing order, they will be white, silver, blue, green, red, pink, purple, brown; brown being a near squib. While this spell is useless in real battle or duel situations, it can be a helpful tool while training. It allows you to objectively evaluate which spells use up the least of your magical energy. Is that clear?”

The Professor swooped back and forth impatiently, waiting for the student to finish copying down the instructions. Finally, most of the class was done.

“Potter!” snarled Snape. “Kindly demonstrate.”

Harry Potter shuffled up to the front of the class, he seemed to be mentally repeating the incantation.

“Aperio Vis Vires!”

A blinding silver light shot between his wand and his palm.

“Very well,” grumbled Snape bad humouredly. “Stop showing off you arrogant fool.”

They glared at each other before Potter made his way back to his seat.

Lisa Turpin, Ernie Macmillan and Lavender Brown were called up next. Theirs were of varying colors and intensities, with Lavender’s the weakest at a pale mauve. Eloise noted that none of the Slytherins had been called up.

“Eloise Midgeon!” the Professor then snapped.

Eloise started, her hand jumping and marring her notes with ink. Snape had _never_ called on her in class before. She lifted her head and stared him strait in the eyes. His face had solidified to a blank mask, gone were the usual signs of exasperated annoyance with which he usually regarded students. Her every instinct screamed to her to be on guard. This unexpected twist in the curriculum was obviously a plot of some sort. Though for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what. Was it simply a test of strength?

There was nothing for it, she had no choice but to follow through, or it would be deemed too suspicious. Eloise moved to the front of the room, her heart beating, palms sweating. She stared at the ground, her eyes flickering nervously back and forth from beneath her eyelashes.

Refusing to be intimidated, she took a steadying breath before uttering the spell in a clear steady voice.

At first, nothing happened. She thought she must have done the spell wrong. Then, a weak flickering brown light sluggishly wove its way from her wand to her palm. Eloise stared at it in horror - absolute silence had descended on the class.

It was impossible. She was Eloise Midgeon, recipient of four Os in major magical subjects on her OWLS. She could not be this weak. She was not this weak. Appearing this weak was a disaster. This one stupid spell could ruin her future career. This one stupid spell could place her in danger for the coming war.

“I think that will be all Miss Midgeon,” said Snape softly with what may have been pity.

Eloise dazedly walked back to her desk. It was a bad dream, a nightmare. Surely she would soon wake up. Please let her soon wake up.

From the throng of students that suddenly seemed to swarm around her, choking her, mocking her, came the hiss: “Pathetic Mudblood.”

 


	10. A Dungeon Duel

** A Dungeon Duel **

Hogwart’s teaching staff were assembling in the teacher’s lounge, taking a well warranted break of relaxation between having to preside at supper and correcting the piles of homework that never ceased to grow.

At this rare respite from her many duties, McGonagall sat in an armchair, her eyes closed; sniffing the fragrant fumes of her hot tea which she cradled delicately in her hands.

“Does anyone know what happened to the sixth years?” questioned McGonagall to the room at large. “They were very distracted in Transfiguration today.”

“In Charms too now that you mention it,” added Flitwick. 

“They acted normally enough in Muggle Studies this morning.”

“Something must have happened in DADA with Severus,” nodded Flitwick wisely. “It seemed to revolve around Eloise Midgeon. There was an odd tension between her and the rest of the class.”

“Yes, I noticed that too,” said McGonagall.

“She didn’t even take notes, just spent the whole class staring into the blue. We were doing atmospheric charms today!” squeaked a distressed Flitwick.

“Do I sense favoritism Filius?” smiled McGonagall.

“We all have our favorites,” he said. “Teaching wouldn’t be as rewarding if there weren’t a few passionate students.”

Just then, Snape walked into the room.

“Ah, Severus!” said McGonagall, turning to him. “Could you perhaps elucidate the cause of the sixth years’ unrest?”

He looked at them coldly before stating simply: “Aperio Vis Vires.”

McGonagall dropped her tea in shock. The cup clattered to the floor, its shards flying across the room.

“What!” yelped Flitwick.

“We studied the Aperio Vis Vires spell in class today. There was a practical demonstration,” said Snape indifferently.

McGonagall pinched her mouth into a thin line. “Am I to understand that you taught your students a Dark spell and then called them up individually to _demonstrate_ in front of the other student?”

“It’s hardly a _Dark_ spell,” scoffed Snape. 

“Am I also right in suspecting that none of your Slytherins were called up to publicly expose their strength and weakness?” McGonagall frostily asked.

Snape stared icily back.

“While we may all know that the Aperio Vis Vires spell is not an accurate indicator of magical prowess, the students don’t,” piped in the Charms Professor in dismay. “In addition to teaching Dark Magic in this school, you’ve condemned some poor soul to ridicule!”

“This time you have gone too far Severus,” said McGonagall now positively glacial. “Dumbledore will never accept this.”

A knock was heard at the door.

The three Professors stood tensely facing each other. No one moved.

A second knock was heard.

Flitwick went to go answer, still glaring at Snape.

Zacharias, Rebecca, Mandy and Lisa were huddled outside the door. They all began talking at once.

“Please! I can’t hear you all at the same time,” begged Flitwick.

“Eloise has disappeared!” blurted Rebecca.

“She went off after charms and didn’t show up at dinner,” rushed on Lisa.

“We’ve searched everywhere! She’s not in Hufflepuff tower, our study room or the Library; she hasn’t been visiting Ravenclaw or Griffindor house; and no one has seen her on the grounds. She hasn’t even visited the kitchens tonight!”

“And something in definitely wrong if Eloise skips a meal!”

“Last time she did something like this, she showed up with a broken arm babbling gibberish. We never found out what happened!”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit early to panic?” said Flitwick kindly. “Or is there some other factor of which I am yet unaware?”

The four students shifted uncomfortably before Mandy finally whispered: “Her Aperio Vis Vires didn’t go very well. She was rather upset.”

“It was very weak professor,” added Lisa at her House Head’s questioning look. “Barely a pale flickering brown.”

The Charms Professor blinked in astonishment before regaining his cool. “If by midnight tonight she still hasn’t returned, please inform me as well as Professor Sprout.”

And as the door closed on the four worried friends, they could hear McGonagall and Flitwick rounding on Snape.

OoooooooooooooooooooO

That very moment, Eloise Midgeon was walking through a long forgotten section of the dungeons.

These passageways were deep underground, every sound echoed loud and clear, bouncing of the hard stone walls. Her breath misted in the dark air. She ran her hand along the moist walls.

She had come down after her classes of the day in order to think and had quite honestly lost all track of time. After DADA, she had been subjected to pity, scorn, derision and condescension. From people that she had outperformed in most of her classes no less! There simply had to be a way to mitigate this disaster.

“Well, well… If the weak little Mudblood hasn’t come out to play,” mocked a cold voice from behind her. “Quasso!”

Eloise had barely time to glance at her assailant, who was cast in shadows, before she was forced to twist out of the way of the incoming spell.

Taking out her wand, she yelled: “Stupefy!”

“Please. Even a squib could do better than that!” taunted the voice, as he easily conjured a shield.

The corridor was soon bathed in the light of the fast flying spells as Midgeon and her foe danced and darted out of the way. Their shadows appeared monstrous on the walls, flickering in and out of life as the curses sparked and died.

The hexes grew progressively more dangerous and violent as each struggled to gain advantage.

As a bone shattering curse singed her hair, Eloise decided she had had enough.

“Exuro bestia!” a beast of fire leapt out of her wand. It was an ancient dark hex, immune to water, cold and the absence of oxygen. It could only be stopped by the proper counter curse.

…Which her opponent obviously knew.

“Do you imagine I am so unlearned as to be fooled by that?” he jeered. “You call yourself a Hufflepuff yet use such _big, bad_ curses?”

 

Eloise was tiring. She had to end it! Quickly!

“Ymber infeci lethargus!” she conjured small poisoned arrow and sent them flying at the shadow. Though they would not kill, a single scratch would paralyze the victim within seconds.

“Stop playing soft you weakling!” yelled her adversary, flicking stones from the walls to intercept the arrows.

“Just leave me alone, you bastard! There is no point to this! You’ll be in trouble if you win or loose. Cut your losses and run!” 

The shadow merely laughed.

“Expelliarmus! Protecto horribilis! Diffindo!” she cried desperately.

“Ego quinquiplico!” Suddenly, there was not one attacker but six identical ones.

Eloise faltered. Which was the right one? This was obviously some kind of reflection curse.

The world abruptly turned black and Eloise fell unconscious to the ground, caught at the last second by a spell that gently lowered her to the floor.

OooooooooooooooO

“Wakey! Wakey! Sleepy head!”

Midgeon blinked and sat up. She was lying in the same dungeon corridor that was now brightly lit. Zabini stood smiling at her.

“I knew you weren’t a magical weakling!” he joyfully said, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Wah?” was her very erudite response, as she looked around in confusion.

“Sorry about that whole _mysterious attacker in the dark_ thing, but I had to know.”

“It… It was you?” she stammered.

Zabini’s are-you-stupid-? look confirmed her growing hunch.

“You… You… YOU IDIOT!” she screamed kicking out his legs from under him. “WHY DID YOU…?! HOW COULD YOU…?! YOU COULD HAVE KILLED ME!!!”

“And vice versa, may I add,” muttered Zabini crossly, rubbing his elbow on which he had landed rather painfully.

“THAT’S ONLY BECAUSE I THOUGHT YOU WERE A CRAZED MADMAN!” she screeched, attempting to kick him again as he rolled out of the way. 

“LOOK at the corridor! WHAT A MESS! We’ll NEVER get away with this!” she continued to bellow waving her arms around frantically.

“Relax,” said Zabini looking at the scorch marks and debris. “These old corridors are rarely used: by the time someone else walks by, our magical signatures will be long gone.”

“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!!!” she roared, launching herself at him.

“Petrificus Totalus,” said Blaise calmly. 

Eloise’s limbs snapped together and she teetered backwards to the floor. Zabini didn’t soften her fall this time.

“Listen,” he said rather annoyed. “After that little stunt you pulled in DADA, I had to know your real strength. The Zabinis do not associate with those who are feeble. If you had proved yourself unworthy, I would have been forced to discontinue my dealings with you. How did you manage to modify the Aperio Vis Vires spell anyway? I thought it was impossible. And most importantly: why?”

He grabbed her wand before partially lifting the hex.

“You mean why did I present myself as pathetically weak bait? An easy hit? When there is absolutely no advantage to doing so. When in a small close-knit community, like that of Magical Britain, it can severely handicap my future career – which is already severely disadvantaged by prejudice and a lack of contacts. When it sends a loud message to the hyena-like Death Eaters that I am one of the weakest and easiest animals in the pack to bump off? To stay inconspicuous, to stay average would have been the smart thing to do - there is safety in numbers. I didn’t modify the spell you nitwit!”

“So the spell actually did show you to be an almost squib and the show of surprise was genuine,” said Zabini, scrutinizing her.

“YES! Now as much as I am flattered by the fact that you think I have total control of my life and plan every second of it, could you please give me back my wand?”

“So how are you going to regain the respect and indifference of our classmates?” asked Blaise.

Eloise stood and brushed off her robes as she disclosed her newly concocted scheme: “As mush as I dislike Griffindor tactics, I think it may be the only way out of my present dilemma. To prove that I am no weakling, I need to be set upon in a very public place. Any other feat of magic would not have as grand an effect as a duel. Everyone is singularly impressed by them. Merlin knows why! But I must use what I can to my advantage. The attacker will have to be a Slytherin, so as not to gain the hatred of the rest of the school. They will have to be reasonably strong but not overtly so – I want to appear average, not gifted. And let’s face it, if they’re as good as you they’ll beat me to a pulp and that would defeat the purpose – wouldn’t it? It has to be someone who will not hold a grudge; someone whose defeat will not be felt with shame by their house; someone not directly connected to the Death Eaters. I need to defeat someone very publicly while appearing respectfully average and not incurring anyone’s wrath.”

“That’s quite a list of conditions,” smirked Zabini. “And I may just know someone who fits the bill.”

“In that case, I may just forgive you.” Eloise smiled back.


	11. Mindscape

**Mindscape**

Professor Severus Snape had been observing Midgeon since he had first been witness to her dealings with Zabini. It had taken him entirely by surprise. The whole situation had made him nervous. If he couldn’t predict a mere Hufflepuff, was he loosing his edge? Could he dare hope to keep ahead of the Dark Lord if he could not keep ahead of a shy student? Since the first night of school he had been trying to crack the riddle that was Eloise Midgeon. He had gone over her school records. They showed little. She had rarely been in trouble. As a whole, teachers either liked her or were completely indifferent, Sinistra being the exception. The few detentions she had received were for minor demeanours: badly completed homework, sleeping in class, getting on the wrong side of Filch’s bad temper. She was utterly unremarkable: a rule abiding student with decent grades. Far from a rare breed, she was someone downright common. There was nothing to suggest that she might be running a secret liquor operation and allied to the Slytherin son of one of Britain’s darkest and most dangerous witches. 

Nothing, that is, until he broke into the school’s medical records. Though her stays tended to be short, she’d been admitted to the hospital wing more times that Potter and Longbottom combined. The accidents that seemed to plague her, though unusual in and of themselves, were not as interesting as Pomfrey’s notes on the suspected cause of the injuries and magical mishaps.

Fifth time in two weeks that student Eloise Midgeon has come in with a peculiar pattern of burns on her left arm. Left arm displays pattern similar to that which one receives when putting up dark wards. Checked for residual signs of dark magic. None found. Suspect she has either found a way to cleanse herself of the tell-tale traces or burns are the result of attempts to modify light wards to imitate dark ones.

Student Eloise Midgeon has once again come in with broken bones and internal bleeding. Cause: Quidditch. Note: Student Susan Bones came in as well sporting similar injuries and claimed that student Midgeon was playing too violently.

Today, student Midgeon’s hands were severely cut. A badly cut rune lay in the palm of her left hand with many slashes superposing it - an attempt to veil the true nature of the problem no doubt. Suspect she was attempting to use the rune of invulnerability in a blood ritual. This appears to have spectacularly backfired as it made the cut invulnerable to magical healing, refusing to cauterise and severely depleting my store of blood replenishing potion. Warned student Midgeon about the dangers of rituals and blood magics.

Despite many qualms have agreed to instruct student Midgeon in medical magic. This will hopefully put an end to the injuries I am sure are the result of botched self-inflicted procedures. Most notable of which: the nose incident. I can only hope that this will not result in further disaster. I will try to instil in her respect for her own health. If she goes on this way, she will one day magically harm herself in a way that cannot be fixed. Merlin give me strength.

Manipulator of spells, Dark Arts enthusiast, fixated on wandless magic, she certainly had an interest in powerful magic. Snape had wondered what magical strength she possessed. It was to these ends that he had the students perform the little practicum in Defence Against the Dark Arts. He was as surprised as anyone to discover her lack of magical reserves. It made what she accomplished all the more impressive. Hufflepuff hard work and determination might deserve some credit after all.

Snape sometimes wondered why he was so focused on discovering what made this particular student tick. He pretended it was because he was truly interested and concerned by the mystery that this unusual Hufflepuff presented. In part, and he knew it though he refused to admit it to himself, he simply needed a distraction from the looming war. His spying duties on the Dark Lord kept him on edge as did the rest of his work for the Order of the Phoenix. He needed something to occupy his mind so as not to go mad, an amusing and inconsequential mystery to occupy his time. Under normal circumstance, it is unlikely he would have expressed more than a passing mild amusement.

Professor Snape stood before his sixth year Defence Against the Dark Arts class. He had assigned a pop quiz. There was nothing quite like it to keep student tense, and today it would serve well to put his plan into motion. He slowly walked through the rows of students, dispensing deprecating comments and negative remarks as he went, enjoying their uncomfortable squirms.

“Class,” he hissed in what he knew was a bone chilling manner. “I shall go to my desk and correct your insipid homework. If any of you so much as look up from your exams you will be summarily thrown out and will receive the failing grade of zero.”

Satisfied that they were sufficiently terrified, Snape sat down at his desk. He had no intention of correcting any homework. It was possible to read someone’s mind without eye contact; however, this took complete concentration and relative proximity to the subject. With a flick of his wand and a murmured “Legimens” Snape delved into the dark recesses of Eloise Midgeon’s mind. 

He quickly encountered her occlumency defences. He was actually moderately impressed. They were quite good… for a complete amateur. He easily bypassed them. Memories and thoughts swarmed about him, but he was seeking the very center of her mind.

It was then that with a splash, Snape landed in murky water. He swore loudly and tried to stand, only succeeding in further entrenching his feet in the thick squelching mud that lay at the bottom. After attempting to break free for what felt like several long minutes, Snape finally looked about him.

He had succeeded in reaching the center of her psyche. Psyches as a general rule took on the form of a person’s sense of their own mind, be it a forest, a castle, a filing room. Over the years, he had peered into many a Hufflepuff’s head but had never come across one of this form before: their minds were all too often filled with puffy pink clouds or fields of daisies – sickeningly happy.

Before him stretched a bog covered in mist, here and there dotted by patches of reeds or little floating pieces of land. It looked shallow in some places, undercut by deep currents in others. The surface was partly covered in water lilies and the ghosts of sea weeds hung suspended in the tranquil waters. Despite the fog, rays of sunlight intermittingly shone through, illuminating the world in golden dazzling colour, if for an instant. 

Snape stood in the mists of a smidgeon of reeds, they towered about him, not numerous enough to obstruct his view but thick enough to conceal him from the boat that was approaching out of the fog. He crouched down and observed for all he was worth.

The rowboat’s paddles dragged in the water, creating small eddies in its wake. It glided seemingly independently from all outside interference. There were three inhabitants in this small vessel - representations of the subconscious mind.

The first occupant sat at the front, her eyes quickly scoured the waters for something she could not find. She gently caressed the boat with the tip of her fingers and appeared to be giving it suggestions in a soothing voice. Snape guessed that she resembled what Eloise Midgeon must have looked like as a child of nine; the determination that exuded from her person was anything but childish.

The second occupant sat at the back. This was Eloise Midgeon, but older, prettier, and far more sensual. Her feet were hitched over the side of the boat, one arm stretched back and trailing in the water. The black dress she wore clung to her contours like wisps of smoke. Her eyes were hard and worldly as they gazed in contempt at the figure before her. 

The third lay in the middle, obscenely fat, joyfully stuffing her face with éclairs, burping unabashedly loudly and licking the chocolate sauce off her fingers in relish. 

Snape knew that these three figures were not part of a personality disorder. When someone suppresses an extreme part of their personality, it takes shape and gains strength in their unconscious mind. The host is unaware of these suppressed personality extremes though they can influence the host’s decisions. The phantoms tend to twist and exaggerate the characteristics they represent, yet they give the clearest idea of one’s inner conflict.

The oldest passenger was presently engaged in a spiteful monologue. “Susan is such a bitch, always trying to get us in trouble. She’s constantly trying to make a fool of us. And you force us to stoically accept it every time, indifferently. That time is past I tell you. Revenge! I want revenge. Let’s poison Macmillan against her. She’s ridiculously enamoured with the dolt. And Sinistra! We hate her and her stupid boring star charts. Let’s disrupt the class and throw all the telescopes off the astronomy tower. But what gets me most is that Zabini bloke. He attacked us! He could have KILLED US! And for what? To see if we were worthy of being his associate. It’s laughable! He’s up to something that one, he is. Insisting on our always meeting in the dungeon because Dumbledore might be using the portraits to spy on us and he doesn’t want to attract attention. Which means that were always meeting on his home turf, giving him the advantage. He’s probably plotting to murder us one day and serve up our body at some cannibalistic Slytherin Death Eater ritual.”

At this, the child at the front, which had been successfully ignoring her, could not help but laugh. “Cannibalistic Slytherin Death Eater ritual? Don’t be ridiculous!” 

“What else could he possibly gain from our association?” the suspicious one continued with fervour. “The alcohol and minimal information we provide him from the Muggle world could not possibly be worth all the knowledge he gives us in return.”

The child did not look convinced. “All he does is give us a few pointers on wizarding society and drag up a few books form the Zabini family library. He’s always very nice about it.”

“Too nice!” exclaimed the dark one. “He can’t be going to all this trouble from the goodness of his heart. We’re nothing but a mudblood to him even if he tries to hide it. THAT is why he attacked us. He wanted to take advantage of our weakness to destroy us.”

“Though it may be true that Blaise was testing our strength, he hardly destroyed us. May I point out that he had ample opportunity as we were knocked out. He voluntarily brought us to without harming us.”

“That’s because he was practicing for a later date. He plans to do us in I tell you!” yelled the dark one ominously.

The young one snorted. “Whatever. Susan is very nice, Sinistra must simply be frustrated at our lack of interest and - for God’s sake - Blaise is hardly planning to eat us! We are in the middle of a potions quiz, though you may have been too busy making doomsday accusations and pointing fingers to notice. We are supposed to be helping find the answers.” 

“Why do you guys always fight all the time?” whined the prone figure at the bottom of the boat. “You should just relax like me and enjoy the ride. Here, have a pastie, you look irritated.” She held on out a sweet to the dark one, who looked back in disgust.

Well, thought Snape, this was certainly amusing. Midgeon was all at once: forgiving, righteous, determined as well as shrewd, suspicious and cynical, not to forget apathetic, lazy and gluttonous. Three sets of values diametrically opposed. He wondered how one could get on in life with so many unconscious personalities constantly bickering in one’s head. And what was this about a duel with Zabini?…

“Always trying to trust everyone aren’t you?” the dark one sneered, irritated to no end by the youth’s righteous attitude. “You think they’re innocent… like us.” And she threw back her head and laughed - a stringent insane cackle.

It may have been a trick of the light, but the world seemed to get darker, the sinister vapours closed in till all was that was left was gloom and murk. A hush fell upon the place as the eldest phantom leaned forward. The fat one, disturbed from her eating, looked nervously at her two counterparts before cowering in the boat.

The dark one was deliberately provoking, her cooing baby voice hauntingly reminiscent of Bellatrix Lestrange. “Stop fooling yourself. We’re not innocent. We have never been innocent.” 

“Thanks to you! You jaded hypocrite!” hissed the youth, suddenly defensive.

“Under the foolish and naïve façade we present to the world I am there, I have always been there. Growing with us, maturing with us. Thanks to me, we have never been truly duped for we have never truly believed. Anything. Anyone.”

“You think there’s nothing good in the world.”

“Correct,” the phantom nodded in approval. “Nothing wholly good; nothing wholly innocent; nothing done without secondary and selfish intentions. To know the world look at yourself. I have always been and will always be a part of us.”

“I wish you weren’t.”

“You don’t really think that. Without me, you’d be naïve, stupid. Without me, you’d be vulnerable. Without me, you would loose a certain zest for life,” the phantom smiled ferociously. “Your ability to analyze would be compromised. You could no longer play the game.”

“That’s all people are to you, aren’t they? Pawn in the sick twisted game you play with life.”

“But we enjoy it don’t we. Our detachment is what permits us to make the best of bad situations. When they hurt us, when they try to bend us to their will, secretly, we are amused.”

“Us against them that’s your view of everything, you sick jaded…” the child started in fury before shaking her head. “No. I will not do this with you again, you enjoy riling me up…”

“You’re welcome,” smirked the phantom wickedly. 

“Shut up. We’re supposed to be looking for the answers,” the irritated youth ground out before going back to her task.

The minutes passed by while the youth picked us water lilies and plunged her hands into the water to search for the answers. 

The phantom was obviously bored, eyes impatiently roaming the landscape; she kicked the fat one a few time and tore up the flowers until she could stand it no more. “Someone’s plotting against us,” she stated.

“Yes, yes, not now,” the youth sighed in aggravation. “Go fashion your far fetched conspiracy theories quietly in the corner.”

The phantom’s eyes flashed with hatred. “Don’t you dare dismiss me.”

“You are aware,” she drawled in a deliberately provoking manner. “That that bastard Snape is on to us.”

The child continued to ignore her.

“…We should neutralize him while we have the chance,” whispered the dark one.

That got the child’s attention. “And by n-neutralise you mean…” the youth stuttered.

“Elimination of the threat, plain and simple. An anonymous tip to Death Eater spawn is all it would take.”

The youth looked at her in horror. “You’re suggesting murder.”

“We need to protect ourselves. It would be perfectly justified. Besides, it wouldn’t technically be murder as he’d be caught in the end anyway. We’d just be speeding up the process a little,” she goaded.

The youth was backing away. “But everyone dies eventually; you could use that reasoning on anyone!”

“Not everyone is in a position to harm us dearest.”

“YOU IMMORAL, SICK… HOW DARE YOU EVEN THINK OF SOMETHING SO TERRIBLE!”

“Just trying to help us out,” the phantom said archly, revelling in the other’s anger. 

The youth seemed to come to a resolution; she deliberately unhooked one of the rowboat’s paddles and advanced towards the phantom waving it threateningly.

“What in hell’s name do you think you’re doing?” said the phantom nervously. 

“Getting rid of you once and for all!” the child screamed swinging the paddle violently at the phantom’s head. Wood met flesh and bone with a sickening crack; its entire body was projected overboard in a forbidding splash.

“…you’re not rid of me yet,” whispered the dark one sinking into the mud and rotting weeds.

“SHUT UP!” she screamed hoarsely, passionately hitting the phantom one last time as she disappeared into the putrid waters.

Then her strength seemed to leave her and she collapsed to her knees heaving breath and weeping bitterly.

The wind picked up, rustlings the vegetation, rippling the water and emitting a mournful cry. The rowboat spun and sloshed like a dying beast. The world itself seemed to shift and from the depths of the water came a horrifying laughing wail. Snape decided it was time to leave. 

It was a shaken Snape that looked up from his desk. Eloise Midgeon sat staring unseeing at her exam; her hands shaking slightly; her quill spilling ink that danced in rivulets down the side of the page, staining everything it touched a midnight black.


	12. Revenge is Sweet

Revenge is Sweet

Rebecca awoke early that day as it was her custom. An early riser, she had gotten used to her quiet mornings. Hufflepuff house did not begin to stir until a much later hour. Not bothering to check if any of her roommates were up, she headed down to the common room to finish her Charms homework. 

Rounding the corner, she was met with the sight of a pair of violently swaying frog slippers. The shabby discolored footwear was perched atop of two ungainly legs, swallow and bone thin, which in turn poked out of hideous flowery pajamas. Eloise Midgeon was standing on her head, atop a table in the middle of the common room. She was madly chewing her hair, eyes bloodshot, her face a decidedly dark puce colour.

Rebecca ground to a halt at this ghastly spectacle. What on earth was her friend hoping to accomplish? Then she saw it. The bloody feather Eloise dragged out to stare at during every single break. The one she waived around claiming she was going to learn wandless magic: her new single-minded obsession. It was rather tiresome. Rebecca was getting ruddy sick of that stupid feather. 

Becca sometimes wondered why Eloise hadn’t been placed in Ravenclaw – she certainly possessed a strong drive for knowledge. But then again, the sorting hat had probably placed her wisely. Poor Rowena would undoubtedly have been thrown into despair at having a student in her house lacking all sense of decorum and capable of coming to such idiotic conclusions. What in Merlin’s name could be the point of staring at the feather upside down? 

Becca waived her hand in front of Eloise’s face. There was no reaction: not a twitch, not a blink. Smiling wickedly, she snuck behind her before shouting and slamming her hand on the table.

Eloise, startled, smacked her head soundly on a bench as she painfully crashed to the floor 

OoooooooooooooooooooooooO

Eloise Midgeon’s POV “I’m so sorry. Are you sure you’re alright?” Rebecca asked for what must have been the 23rd time as she dragged me up yet another set of stairs. 

Not being in the best of moods, having somehow managed to crack open my skull before six in the morning, I grunted in reply. As a jolt worsened my throbbing headache, I wished the hospital wing had been placed at a more practical location. 

“I hadn’t expected you to give yourself a concussion. I wouldn’t have… I mean… You were just so ridiculous, staring at that stupid feather. You couldn’t really expect me to resist. Could you?” She chattered on, coming to an abrupt stop when she noticed my death glare. “Uh... right. Off to the hospital wing then.”

When we arrived, the doors were closed and locked.

“Madam Pomfrey!” I yelled, pounding on the door. 

We made a racket for close to ten minutes before a very sleepy-eyed and irritated nurse finally opened the door. Her hair was sticking up at rather odd angles and her robe was badly buttoned, she looked fit to rip off our heads.

“You had better have a very good reason for…” she sighed in resignation when she saw me. “Oh, it’s you. Come in then. Now what have you managed to do to yourself at such an ungodly hour?”

“Concussion, ma’m,” I said. Rebecca had the decency to look vaguely guilty

The nurse stomped off to the potions cabinet, muttering dire oaths about foolish Hufflepuffs under her breath. 

“Here! Take this,” she roughly pushed a potion into my hand. “Now get out. And pick-up the reading texts on the table. We will have your first lesson when you have memorised them.”

I looked at the huge pile of books, expecting them to be about rudimentary magical healing. “But these are Muggle anatomy texts!”

“And very good texts they are. Think child! Did you imagine I’d let you fool around with magical healing without first understanding the basic underlying physical constitution and processes? Not on my watch! None of those quick fixes that give many the impression they know what they are doing while really making it worse. Magical healing is extremely complex. It is all too easy to exacerbate the problem. So many do. Then they come to us to fix them when it has gone catastrophically wrong! And when we can’t repair the damage, we’re incompetent aren’t we! We’re not trying hard enough! Healing is such a thankless profession! Always taking us for granted!”

We’d never seen madam Pomfrey rant like this. She was slamming the potions back in place, her face growing darker by the second. Her voice rose in volume and pitch as she grew more flustered. I caught a covert glance of unadulterated rage thrown to one of the curtained areas of the infirmary. 

Nodding, we slowly stepped backwards, afraid to set her off, before turning and running as fast as we could all the way to the great hall.

“Well, that was traumatizing,” I huffed dropping my tower of books on the ground.

“Are you sure you still want lessons with her?” gasped Rebecca, clutching the wall.

“Just promise to petrify me if I ever try to show up before at least nine o’clock in the morning.”

“Deal,” she breathed before starting to snicker. “Beware of the early morning monster! Mad mediwitch ahoy!

Chocking in laughter, I added: “Who do you think was in the infirmary?” 

OooooooooooooooooooooO

“Let me get this strait. You’ve given up on the atrophied muscle approach to wandless magic; the whole staring at it for hours willing it to move. You’re now trying to move the feather by not paying attention to it, keeping your mind occupied with meditation and standing on your head so that an unconscious portion of your brain will levitate the feather,” said my Ravenclaw friend, whom I had dragged over to our house table for breakfast.

“Yup!” I replied happily. “Genius isn’t it?”

“I’m not sure I’d call it bloody brilliant,” said Mandy speculatively. “But it is an interesting approach, in a mentally insane kind of way.”

I loved Mandy, I truly did. Instead of laughing her head off at the stupidity of my theories like Zacharias and Rebecca, she always listened to my explanations with an open mind. Not that she ever agreed with me, but all the same.

Noticing my tender tear-filled gaze, she threw up a hand in panic. “Sweet Merlin! It’s far too early for a crying-hugging Hufflepuff scene. Take pity on the reserved Ravenclaw will you?”

I grinned, going back to my food. Without my friends, I don’t know what I would have done. I’d been having a rather stressful week since the Aperio Vis Vires debacle. Instead of dying down, the ridicule that plagued me had not ceased to grow. Even the first year Puffs that I’d been helping out with Transfiguration had gently told me they’d found someone else. The entire school thought I was an idiot. There hadn’t been so many people whispering about me since I’d blown off my nose in fourth year. I had added Snape to my list of people-to-get-back-at-though-I-probably-never-would. It was beginning to include a rather alarming number of Slytherins.

My plans of social rehabilitation by way of public duel and not yet come to fruition. Zabini was supposedly working on getting Sarah Fernley to insult me publicly. She was a half-blood seventh-year Slytherin, who was known to have fairly good duelling skills. My accomplice assured me I could beat her. Though that did not stop him from giving me encouraging little tidbits of advice: “Don’t forget to use a lot of shields because you footwork is truly awful.” “Remember, you won’t be using any dark spells, you’ll have to wait until she screws up to make your move.” 

In truth, I was starting to feel a tad guilty about the whole thing. It was my understanding that Fernley had a rough time of it. As a half-blood in Slytherin house, her duelling skills were the only thing keeping her from complete isolation. Publicly loosing to a sixth year Hufflepuff would destroy any of the respect she had earned from her house-mates. Despite Zabini’s claims, I highly doubted she would just let that go. Besides, she had kindly shown me the way to Potions class in my first year, I owed her.

“At least I’m not as stupid as that Hufflepuff,” boomed the loud voice of Ronald Weasley. “Can you believe how weak she is? Practically a squib. Though that’s hardly surprising, Puff’s are just a bunch of cowardly duffers anyway.” A few of the other boys guwaffed heartily.

The Hufflepuff table had gone quiet, as many paused in rage. Weasley was of that breed of Griffindork that constantly ridiculed our house. No one ever seemed to remember that Hufflepuff was second only to Ravenclaw in terms of class average. 

Potter did not join in their merriment. His disapproving whisper could be heard: “Ron…”

The oaf ploughed on regardless. “Did you see her ugly face? Midgeon looked as if she was going to cry. Boohoo, I’m so pathetic.” He mocked, grossly imitating my bewilderment. 

I hated Ronald Weasley with a passion. Had hated him since he was particularly mean to me in fourth year. Quickly coming to a resolution, I turned in my seat and jabbed my wand at him, whispering: “Pulsus baro.”

The fool’s head was pushed down into his bowl of porridge.

“What?.. who..” he spluttered, his face covered in grime.

“Over here, Weasley!” I waved. “The pathetic Hufflepuff, remember?”

He snarled nastily, getting up and taking out his wand. He sent me the Furnuculus curse, which I easily deflected. It smashed into a pitcher of pumpkin juice, showering Lavender Brown and Pavarti Patil. 

“You call me pathetic?” I snorted. “And that’s the best you can do?” A gaggle of students had formed around us. Everyone wanted to watch. It wasn’t everyday, a Hufflepuff was involved in a duel. Shouts of encouragement and insults were heard, as the students egged us on. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see McGonagall and Sprout trying to make their way through.

Looking humiliated, Weasley tried the stupefy curse, but he was so angered at this point, it came out pink instead of red. I sidestepped it, continually keeping my one sided shield up. A little precaution never hurt, I couldn’t have borne loosing to the idiot.

I kept my face mildly amused, my movements calm and collected. This was a show after all.

“Petrificus totalus,” I waved negligently.

He dived out of the way and into the path of my two other spells, cast in quick succession. They were elegant in their simplicity. A cheering charm strong enough to cause manic-like symptoms and one of my own invention, a mild susceptibility spell, unlike the imperio curse in that the victim would not do anything he didn’t really want to do. They were both mind magics; as so many spells were in the wizarding world. Obliviation, legimency, the imperio curse, mood changing charms, illusions such as the ceiling of the Great Hall, the silencio spell or the notice-me-not charm were all connected. They consisted in mind manipulation, instead of changing the physical world. Occlumency provided resistance against these spells, which was why I was so interested in learning it.

Weasley had paused in battle, a stupid ear-splitting smile on his face. Too happy to duel, his look was rather glazed.

“Why Ronald! It’s a wonderful day!” I exclaimed in a mockery of camaderie, walking over and slapping his back as hard as I could.

He nodded blissfully.

“One should celebrate such a beautiful day! Right?” I spoke down to him as if he were four.

He nodded again.

“What better way to celebrate than by singing and dancing!” I clapped enthusiastically.

And he was off.

Professor McGonagall made it through the throng of laughing students first. “What happened?” she snapped.

“Oh, Weasley insulted me professor,” I shrugged indifferently. 

“What have you done to him?” she gasped in dismay, spotting her student.

“All I did was cheer him up a little and suggest he might like to celebrate. I’m afraid that,” I smiled pointing to the prancing, singing Ron. “Is entirely Weasley.”

“Fifteen points from Huffle.. ” she paused as Weasley’s wobbly tenor drifted over.

“… I’m brewing up a cauldron of hot strong luuuuuv…”

“I didn’t even have to suggest that he might like to dress up for the occasion. He did that all on his own.” 

Indeed, the dork had soon decided to transfigure his robes a brilliant orange. It had gone wrong, his robes sprouting patches of feathers, which flew off every time he swirled.

Pride and honour were satisfied. I contentedly accepted my detention.

It took four hours and the combined expertise of Madam Pomfrey, Professor Flitwick and Snape to return Ron Weasley to his normal state.

It had been a good morning.


	13. Not Quite Detention

**Not Quite Detention in the Forbidden Forest**

Never before in the history of her schooling had Eloise Midgeon been in such a good mood when heading to detention. She would usually drag her feet, whining and complaining to such a degree that she lost the sympathy of anyone within hearing range. Though not much appreciated, she firmly believed that her talent at aggravation would be recognized one day.

Tonight she skipped and whistled on her way, in an unconscious imitation of Weasley’s elaborate choreography. It had been a dazzling triumph. Her reputation had immediately been re-established and she had gracefully accepted the adulation of the masses. Her defense misadventures were no longer quoted, she was now the Hufflepuff who ‘whipped Weasley without batting an eye’. The first years she tutored had begged her to take them back and she had never seen Zacharias so delighted. Her choice of foe could not have been more perfect. Weasley tended to run off at the mouth and had offended quite a number of people during his years at Hogwarts. The Hufflepuffs were proud of her defending their house; the Slytherins were overjoyed that she had shown up Potter’s friend; the Ravenclaws were relieved they wouldn’t have to hear loud complaints about their bookishness for a few days; and, most of the Griffindors thought Ron being bested by a girl was hilarious. Admittedly, it had gone to her head. Susan had impatiently told her to grow-up as she yanked her down from her improvised orating platform. In hindsight, the announcement that ‘the courageous and talented vanquisher of the great orange beast will be offering autographs for a modest monetary compensation,’ might have been a little pretentious. 

It had been worth it. A single evening of floor scrubbing, line writing or frog dissecting could not dampen her spirits. They were to meet Filch in the Great Hall. 

She quieted as she approached, placing her feet quietly on the ground. Silence hung heavy in the air, the merest rustle of fabric echoed loudly, resonating across the large empty room. Silver splinters from the ghostly light of the windows shone on a few diffracted surfaces; a table edge, a forgotten parchment in a corner, a cracked stone. It illuminated the faint outlines of two students. She recognized them as she drew near: Malfoy and Weasley, mutually staring at each other with utter loathing.

“Come for your detentions I take it,” rasped Filch as he materialized out of the gloom. “It’ll be nothing more than you deserve. The thumbscrews might have done, but this will be even better.”

The caretaker hacked a wheezing sound, “I warn you, this won’t be pretty. Follow me.”

His guileful smile hinting of horrors to come, he limped out of the hall, picking up his lantern on his way.

Eloise gulped and gave a frightened look to the others, whom had immediately followed while studiously ignoring each other, before running to catch up. They marched out the great doors onto the lawn and towards the groundkeeper’s cabin.

“So ye brought ‘em at las’, Filch,” rumbled the giant. “Thank ye. Tha’ ell be all.”

Filch was affronted at being so quickly dismissed, but he managed to give them a gleefully ominous good-bye.

“We’d better ‘urry,” said Hagrid. “Time’s a running out. Do ye all know wha’ hellebore is and do ye’ all have a watch?”

The three nodded.

“We’ll be goin’ int’a the forest to harvest it’s flowers ta’night. Midnigh’ is comin’, we have t’ah pick it ‘afore one o’clock in the morning. They loose their potency af’ter tha’. Put ‘em in these here bags. Ye’ve cultivated ‘em ‘afore in ‘erbology, yeh know w’at ta do. Same metho’ as last time boy’s. Shoo’ up red sparks if ye ge’ int’a trouble. Ron ye’ll be comin’ with me. Malfoy ye’ll be wi’h Fangs. You too Miss Midgeon,” he added as an after thought.

Eloise tried to repress the sinking feeling in her stomach, it was making her sick.

“You want us to go into the forest on a full moon” Malfoy spluttered. “Are you mad?”

“Just as scared as a first year, aren’t you Malfoy,” Ron snorted derisively. “Five more years of magical education and you’re just as cowardly as ever.”

“Oh,” Malfoy sneered. “Because wandering around at night in the Forbidden forest went so well last time. I seem to remember Potter almost getting killed… Pity.”

“Ye’ll be goin’ Malfoy,” growled Hagrid. ‘It’s no’ more than ye’ deserve fer bully’in the stu’ents.’

“Uh… Professor Hagrid,” faltered Eloise. “I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

Malfy cut her off. “When my father hears about this..”

“Ye’ father’s in Azcaban, he’s in no position t’a do anything Malfoy,” Hagrid retorted pleasantly. “Now stop yer cowar’ly bleating, we haf’ta go.”

Eloise stared at the forest; she was terrified. She knew what lived was in there, having researched the subject in her first year. Exploring it had at first sounded like a great idea, it was quickly rejected when she discovered the lists of the many students who had disappeared or died in the forest. She was panicking; cold sweat ran down her back. She tried to control her breath to keep herself from hyperventilating. Fear quickly turned to anger. An uncontrollable boiling rage filled her. Taking a few risks when magically experimenting was one thing, the possible rewards being worth the risk, but this was suicide! And for what?!

“Coward or not,” Eloise sharply interjected. “Malfoy is perfectly right. I assume the Forbidden forest is forbidden because it is not safe for groups of students to go out exploring it in the middle of the day. It is now night and the full moon, magical creatures everywhere will be at their most active and dangerous.” 

“Don’ worry yer ‘ead abou’ it. Fang ‘ell be with ye,” said Hagrid gruffly, heading to go.

“No!” she screeched. “You want me to go in there, on a full moon accompanied by nothing other than a mutt and another half trained student? You do realize that the most powerful offensive spells we have officially been taught at this school are weak stunner and impact charms?! All of which are next to useless when confronting magically resistant monsters. The forest is populated by lentifold, werewolves, chimera, and countless other nameless beasts. They are all resistant to magic! How exactly are we equipped to defend ourselves? Could you explain to me what exactly is worth the risk of loosing our lives? Or are you just that STUPID!”

Hagrid quailed a little, intimidated by the screaming student who didn’t even reach his elbow. In other circumstance it might have been amusing. “Well…” he hesitated. “Professor Snape wan’ed some po’ion ingredients.” 

“If professor Snape wants his ingredients so badly, he can go get them himself,” she seethed. “I’m certainly not risking my neck for something so stupid. I’m already a Muggle-born, there is no way I will contend with being a werewolf as well. There’s enough discrimination heading my way already, thank you very much. And surprisingly enough, I have no desire to come to a premature end in the belly of some nightmarish creature!”

“You’re just a coward Midgeon,” Weasley scoffed. “Not so brave now that your little Puffy friends aren’t with you.”

Eloise looked back at him in disbelief. “If having a sense of self-preservation means that I am a coward and a Hufflepuff, then I am proud of it!”

Hagrid was at a loss. This detention was rapidly turning into a disaster. He did not know how to deal with the enraged student challenging him.

“I, for one,” continued Midgeon. “Am NOT an IMBECILE and so refuse to risk my life in such pointless foolhardiness. If you Griffindors wish to pursue such idiocy, I will not stop you, but do not overstep your bounds a professor. You have no right to risk the life of your students in such a senseless quest. I am going back to bed and will serve detention if and when you come up with a less outlandish proposal.”

She stalked off in a huff, her nose pointed superiorly in the air. After a glance at the open-mouthed giant, Malfoy quickly followed and fell into step beside her.

They walked in silence until they were well out of hearing range.

“Did you see their faces?” he gloated, having seemingly forgotten she was a mudblood in his rivalry with the Griffindors. “It was beautiful! You’re the one who showed Weasley up at breakfast the other day aren’t you?”

“Well, yes,” she said uncomfortably, wondering what he wanted. All he’d ever done was insult her and sneer at her. A lovely sneer it was too, damn him. No, no,no. It was not the time to be jealous.

“You’ve got spunk for a Hufflepuff,” he said, looking as if he was paying her a great compliment.

“Not really,” she chocked in shock. Had the great-oh-mighty pureblood just used the word ‘spunk’? 

“Hufflepuffs,” he said with distain. “Seldom shout down their teachers. They are far too obedient; no sense of pride or cunning whatsoever.”

Eloise smiled bemusedly up at the stars. If Malfoy wanted to have a conversation, she might as well roll with it. “Hufflepuffs and Slytherins aren’t all that different. Both houses posses a strong sense of self-preservation. Say, for example, that someone fell off a broom above you during a quidditch game, and you could either catch them and most likely get injured or get out of the way – what would you do?”

“I’d get out of the way of course.”

“So would most Hufflepuffs. Difference being that we’d feel terribly guilty afterwards and that given enough time to think, we’d probably reverse our decision. However, the innate reaction remains: to get the hell out of there.” 

He observed her in amusement, rather as one observes a dog that has been pushing its upturned food bowl around for the last twenty minutes in an attempt to get to the food underneath, never succeeding.

“The entire house is still disgustingly honest.”

“Why do Slytherins always assume that honesty and truth are a weakness? You don’t have to lie to people to turn them to your side. Just present the truth in a positive light that serves your purpose and appeal to the right side of their character. Persuade them – don’t trick them. And don’t persuade them like a self-righteous Griffindor either. You can’t bulldoze someone into agreeing with you.”

At the work ‘bulldoze’, Malfoy looked a little confused, before he remembered the status of her blood.

“Now if mudbloods such as yourself, would just accept our superiority, there wouldn’t be any trouble,” he said kindly. “We’re much more intelligent and magically talented. It is a proven fact.”

Eloise couldn’t believe it. The little zealot actually believed all that bullshit. Instead of getting mad, she shrugged indifferently. “Would you buy into an ideology that proclaimed Weasley to be your superior?”

“No!” exclaimed Malfoy, revolted by the very thought. It took him a couple seconds to come up with a retort. “That’s different though, he’s a blood traitor.”

“Hum,” responded Midgeon. “If you say so.”

They lapsed into silence once more.

“I can’t expect a mudblood like you to understand,” were Malfoy’s parting words as they entered the school.

Some things weren’t worth the trouble.


End file.
